Tinker
by GoEastJane
Summary: Grady sells her unique inventions to the highest bidder. Or the one with the most interesting secrets. Oswald Cobblepot needs her help. And then he needs her dead.
1. Clandestine Mechanics

It was the first time business had arrived at Oswald Cobblepot's doorstep. To say he was surprised would be a mild expression of his feelings. He had gone to great lengths to keep his home secret and therefore safe.

He had no idea who she was. When she knocked, he would have thought she was selling something (and it was true that she was) if not for her appearance. Battered old boots, puffy brown winter coat with a fur lined hood, gap toothed, and a mess of reddish hair stuffed beneath a newsie cap. She smiled, flashing the gap teeth and in her grey eyes was a glint of something Oswald was very familiar with although he did not recognize it in himself. Her eyes were the color of insanity lurking just below the surface.

"What do you want?" he asked through the chain bolting the door while his mother hovered behind him, parroting the same sort of questions.

The woman stuffed a business card through the opening, proffering it with a greasy fingerless glove. "Ailis O'Grady," she said. "Grady to most. Surprised you don't know me."

Oswald glanced from the business card which said something about O'Grady Clandestine Mechanics to the wild looking thing peering through the door and then memory served. His grip on the handle tightened while his other hand scraped his pocket for a knife.

"You work for Fish Mooney," he said.

"Who is this? Why are you not showing me who is at the door?" Mrs. Cobblepot repeated.

"Mother, get back," Oswald hissed.

"Take it easy friend. I work for a lot of people. You could find me quite useful, Mr. Cobblepot and you, I find very interesting."

"How did you find me at all?" His blue eyes darted past her shoulder, searching the hall for others but Grady was alone.

"Got my ways. You know my trade," Grady raised a large tin work box.

"Will you not show me who is at the door?" Mrs. Cobblepot interrupted.

The minute she laid eyes on Grady she took a deep breath and puffed up like an angry hen. "I knew it! I knew when you were missing you were out with some hussy!"  
>Grady let loose a yelping laugh.<p>

"Honestly mother. This is the hussy you think I made off with?" Oswald gestured at Grady's unkempt hair and bulky jacket. "No offense, of course." he added to Grady. "I only meant to say that clearly you are no hussy."

"None taken," Grady shrugged.

"What do you want with my son?" Oswald's mother demanded.

"Simple business deal ma'am," Grady spread her gloved hands innocently.

"Always with this talk of business," Mrs. Cobblepot mumbled as she unhooked the chain and gave Oswald a dark look. "Now this business brings strange women with metal boxes to our door. What is next, I ask."

"I'm sorry mother, if you could give us a moment..."

Mrs. Cobblepot rolled her eyes and disappeared into the kitchen in a cloud of foreign muttering.

"This way," Oswald gestured to the couch. Grady plopped to the sofa and flipped the lid of her work box.

"I want to know how you found me," Oswald fixed her with his glacial stare.

"First thing you should know about me Mr. Cobblepot is that I don't I just trade gadgets, I also trade secrets," she continued fishing in her work box. "So what I'm trying to say is: that would be telling."

"I saw you sell something to Fish once but that was ages ago," Oswald said more to himself than Grady as he searched for ways she could have any idea who he was or any interest in him. "Do you sell to Maroni too?"

"On occasion. Maroni doesn't care much for micks though. Never liked my father and the circles he ran in." Grady dropped a seemingly random collection of objects on the coffee table.

The name O'Grady was vaguely familiar to Oswald. They must have had some significance in the Irish mob but whatever it was, it was history now.

"I understand you like secrets," Grady continued. "This is good. See this tie pin? If you look very, very closely at the center you'll find a camera smaller than a grain of rice. You collect more secrets with that than you'll find fleas on a dog."

Oswald took the tie pin but found no hint of a lens in it's dark, glassy interior. "I don't see anything."

"Well I don't expect you take me at my word." Grady switched on a tiny black and white battery operated TV. Oswald found himself staring at his own eye on the screen. "Fascinating," he breathed, brain flickering with possibility. "Is there sound?" he asked.

"Not on this model. But for best results you want a device specifically designed for sound. This suits your tastes, I would think," Grady handed him an ornate antique pocket watch. "Pull the pin on top, start recording. Push the pin, it stops. Six hours of material, great definition. Your Mum drops a pin in the kitchen, we'll hear it. Now wind it up."

Oswald twisted the top and the last minute of her instructions sounded back, clear as a well tuned radio.

"Hook it to a speaker for better results," Grady said with the confidence of someone who knows they have an easy sale.

"It is elegant and ingenious Miss Grady," Oswald said. "But I understand your fine work does not come cheap."

Grady gave a lopsided grin. "You're not wrong. But I don't just accept money. You can buy it for a secret."

Oswald was wary of this game. As intriguing as it was, it was very dangerous too. "What kind of secret?"

Grady gave a dramatic shrug. "A secret worth what such a useful device could do for you."

"I could tell you a secret and you might say it's not valuable enough. I'd be out one secret with nothing in return," Oswald frowned.

"You know the same as me that in this business we have to take well calculated risks," Grady smirked. "You do want the watch though?"

"Yes. It's a simple and elegant solution to complicated problems which arise. But is it worth the price of a secret..." Oswald slumped in his chair, chewing his lip.

"I also accept cash or check," Grady said.

"That may have to do. As much as your methods interest me."

Grady's crooked grin returned along with the mad glint in her eye. "Fair enough. Besides Oswald, I already know your most interesting secret."

"I very much doubt that," Oswald laughed as he reached for his wallet.

"Your employer isn't interesting? Your true allegiance?" Grady's smile was gone, her childish face quite serious, but Oswald didn't see, his eyes were on his checkbook.

"What's so interesting about Mr. Maroni?" he said.

Grady giggled. "Right. Maroni."

Oswald felt his blood run cold as his heart missed a beat. No. She couldn't. How could she? She wouldn't laugh. Wouldn't sit there cool as you please armed with such dangerous information. His gaze met her own wicked, glittering eyes. She knew. Or at least she thought she did.

"Miss Grady... I do hope you know that there are some secrets that will kill you by night fall."

"Oh, I don't think so. See I might be dead, but you would follow shortly after. I know exactly how to get your secret into the right hands and I know how to do it quickly. But you know that. You're very smart, Mr. Cobblepot. That's why I'm here. Do I want to sell you a watch? Sure. But I'm much more interested in what you know. In your potential. I can see the seeds of what you're trying to create. Work with me and your chance of success doubles."

"You don't know what I want," he sneered.

"What do any of us want?" Grady slapped her hands on the coffee table, eyes full of fire. "We want to write our names all over the history of this city and get so far above the others we can't be touched."

Oswald didn't know if what he was feeling was hate or admiration but it burned him. He had slipped up. The only people that knew his true loyalties were himself and Mr. Falcone. The fact that this Grady creature had found out meant that either he had made a mistake somewhere along the line or she was good. Very good. Better than him. She left him no choice but to keep her close until he learned her well enough to trap her and dispose of her.

"What exactly do you want from me Miss Grady?"

She had started packing items back in the box. "I want to help you. I want you to help me. I want your knowledge and your ideas. I want you as an ally."

"You haven't left me much of a choice," Oswald glared. "A successful partnership is built on some level of equality."

"Oh, we are equals. You have every right to say no," Grady shut the box with a snap.

"You can't say that when you know so much about me and the only thing I know about you is that you know too much."

"Believe me, I have no interest in ratting you out to Fish or Maroni. So please, don't force me to do it to save my own skin. That would be a terrible, boring waste." Grady stood and wound a scarf around her neck.

"What do you think of Fish Mooney? Do you like her?" Oswald tested the waters, tried to find her angle.

Grady shrugged. "I don't like anyone much, really."

"Ah," Oswald said for lack of anything else to say.

"Keep the watch," Grady said and Oswald noticed she had left it on the coffee table. "On Thursday I'll be at Don Maroni's restaurant to add an installation to his bar. We'll talk then."

Oswald led her to the door. "I think it's only fair you tell me how you found out where I live."

"Come on mate, I just gave you a free watch."

"A watch is not worth my life," Oswald said a little too loudly. His mother's head whipped around the kitchen door to stare at them. "I'm joking mother," he said.

She withdrew but not before eyeing Grady suspiciously.

"True," Grady agreed. "It was a simple process. I followed you a bit for one. But all I'll say is that I make good use of the bums on the streets and so should you. Another pair of eyes like the cameras. They're dead useful. Nah, the real question is how I found out about your plan which was really a brilliant one, but you take risks. Don't go on his property in person again. See what I'm saying?"

"I do," Oswald said slowly. "I thought...it seemed...No one would think to look for me there."

"Well I did, didn't I?"

"I have the impression you're not normal Miss Grady," Oswald said.

"This is true," Grady laughed. "But that's a factor you have to consider, isn't it. Truth is, I didn't expect to find out you were on Falcone's property. I was very surprised to learn that. But once I did, I put the pieces together. I took a guess when we talked just now and you as good as told me the answer. It's not very difficult for me. I see people and their schemes as working very much like the pieces of my machines. Everything is connected, cause and effect, logical process of elimination. There's that emotional element of chaos at times, but that just makes it more fun."

It was Oswald's turn to smirk. She was better at this than him, but he could use that. He would learn from her and then he would eliminate her just as he would Don Maroni, Fish Mooney, even Falcone. She had beaten him at his own game and how he hated her for it. But she had some sort of charisma. He would enjoy working with her as much as he would enjoy figuring out how to tear her apart. "I couldn't agree more," he said.

"And you think we won't work well together. You'll see. Separate we're deadly. Together we'll be unstoppable." Grady tipped her cap at him. "Tell your Ma I said have a nice day."

Oswald locked the door behind her. His mother bustled back into the room. "You won't be bringing that scarlet woman back here again, will you?"

"I'm afraid she may be very hard to get rid of." He moved to the living room window and watched the street below.

"She tries to snare my handsome son. I will not have it..."

"This is all about business mother, I assure you." He watched Grady emerge on the sidewalk below. She leaned on a traffic sign, looking both ways up and down the street. A bum with a shopping cart rolled past her and Oswald could have sworn he saw Grady hand him something although the bum did not slow down. What was this damnable girl planning?


	2. Under the Bar

Oswald had been nervous ever since he met Grady. She was a wild card and difficult to calculate. When she showed up at Maroni's he would pretend he didn't know her and he assumed she would do the same. But he felt there was an element to her that he could not predict. She was like a time bomb. He didn't like it.  
>She arrived with a rush of cold air from outdoors and three metal boxes instead of one. She ignored Oswald completely when she entered which put him at ease.<p>

"Ey! It's little O'Grady!" Maroni crowed. "Can I get you something? A beer? Some potatoes?"

"I wouldn't say no to either," Grady said but her smile did not reach her eyes.

Maroni chuckled. "Sense of humor. I do like this kid. I don't wanna like you but hey, I do. Penguin, you know Grady?"

"We may have met once. Pleasure to meet you Miss Grady." He offered her his hand while Grady's face remained still as stone.

"You do seem familiar," she said.

"Mooney's?" Maroni asked.

"That's right," Grady's eyes lit up, her child like features believable and innocent.

"Figures. This little shit will sell to anyone. But we need her," Maroni explained.

Grady ignored him and addressed Oswald. "Sorry mate, would have thought I'd remember a name like Penguin..."

"Didn't call him that then. New business, new name, eh Penguin?" Maroni clapped Oswald on the back so hard he nearly fell over.

Grady squinted at Oswald. "He looks like a person to me..."

"So much for a sense of humor. How about you get to work."

"About that," Grady said. "I don't think this should be installed on the underside of the bar. That's the first place everyone looks. There's always something nasty hidden under the bar."

"I know what I'm doing. The bar is where we talk business, the bar is where I want the mics."

"But even if I put something in the mirror -"

"Grady, who's paying you? Put it under the bar."

She didn't argue further but Oswald spotted her rolling her eyes as she shed the brown jacket. It hit the ground with a strange clanking noise as if half made of metal, the pockets stuffed with tools. She pushed up the sleeves of her holey sweater and began unloading boxes.

One of Maroni's men handed him a phone saying, "There's a deal going down at the warehouse you don't want to miss out on."

Maroni cursed and grabbed the phone, Oswald watched, waiting patiently to make his next move and Grady disappeared under the bar.

"Ten minutes," Maroni barked into the phone. "I'll be there in ten minutes, keep him there."

He shoved the phone back to his lackey and rounded on Oswald. "I hate it when things aren't scheduled. No schedule, I don't know who to send where," he flapped his big hand at the window. "Penguin, I want to bring you along. I could use you, but I need someone with half a brain manning this place. Especially with that one here working." He pointed to the bar.

"I can hear you, you know," said Grady's muffled voice.

"Just teasing ya," said Maroni but to Oswald he glanced at the bar and mouthed "watch her." He twirled his finger in a cuckoo motion then headed for the door. He knocked on the bar as he passed. "You'll have this finished when I get back?"

"I expect," she mumbled from beneath.

Maroni waved a flock of big men to his side and they all herded out the door. Oswald moved to the bar and although his days of pouring from the taps were through, he filled a glass with a dark beer and placed it on the bar above Grady's head.

"Brilliant. Cheers," she said. Her hand reached up and the glass disappeared.

"You're lucky Maroni left just now." Oswald slid onto one of the bar stools.

"Lucky. Right," Grady snorted.

"You did it then," Oswald confirmed his suspicions.

"I might have done. Just had a friend of mine set up a meeting he couldn't resist."

"Clever." Oswald peered around the restaurant, empty except for the staff behind the kitchen doors. The sinks and dishes clattered and the fans whooshed with enough noise to allow them to talk freely.

Oswald leaned over the edge of the bar and peered down. Grady wore a pair of goggles with multiple magnifying lens attachments. It made her look like a strange robotic bug. She crouched beneath the bar, concealing tiny wires along the length of the inner edge.

"Microphones for sound recording?" he asked.

"Aye," she grunted, her accent thickening as she focused. "How's the watch running?"

"I haven't tried it yet. There hasn't been an opportunity."

Grady lay flat on her back, still wrestling with wires. "If you could reach in that toolbox and hand me the screwdriver with a seven on the bottom and a small hammer with a green handle, it would be a great help." She mumbled this around a mouthful of wires. Oswald dropped the tools next to her shoulder and she snatched them up lightening fast, tinkering with the screwdriver and an occasional whack of the hammer.

"So you haven't used the watch, but I'm sure you've done something interesting this week. Word is, Fish's newest umbrella boy's gone missing. She does have bad luck with those."

"Perhaps she shouldn't break their legs," Oswald said darkly.

Grady's face emerged from under the bar, staring him down. "That's what happened to you? With the Penguin thing?"

He nodded while Grady exchanged hammers. "I figured as much. But I'm sure you know from working for her," she jabbed the hammer at him. "You got off easy compared to what could have happened."

"I suppose." He wouldn't call his miles long trek out of Gotham on multiple broken bones or his ridiculous gimping waddle easy, but it was preferable to dead.  
>"I know you're behind Fish's missing boy," Grady continued. "Do you know what you're going to do next?"<p>

"I'm calculating. I have very delicate information. Powerful information." He did not bother to add that it was information he didn't want to share with anyone.  
>Grady stood up now and pulled the goggles from her eyes. "Let me prove my worth. Tell me. I'll help you."<p>

"What I learned could be the downfall of Fish Mooney," Oswald told her. "Or it could be my own undoing. Why should I trust you with this?"

"It's not about trust brother, it's about making the right move. Think about it. I could prove to Maroni at any moment that you're playing him, but I haven't done it and I don't plan to. There would be no point. Maroni is nothing in the scheme of things. I recognize you Oswald. Maroni tells you he does, Falcone thinks he does, but only I've figured out what you're really doing. You're it, man. You may not be the major player yet, but you will be it. I see it. You think you can take down Fish? Excellent. Let's do this thing. Tell me what you know, we'll start planning."

Oswald jutted his jaw, thinking. If what she said was true, Grady was no doubt an ally, at least for the time being. But he was also aware that she was smart enough to know exactly what to say to get what she wanted from him. He could refuse and risk her getting angry and complicating things. Or he could take the leap and see what she had to offer.

"Do you know about Falcone's new maid...companion...whatever you choose to call her? Liza?"

Grady's brow knitted. "A bit. I haven't given her much attention."

Oswald grinned. Finally. Something he knew that she didn't. "She's a plant, Fish put her there. She reports to her."

Grady burst into unexpected peals of laughter, doubling over with a bright red face. She clapped her hands. "Mooney's trying to take down Falcone?" she whispered. "Brilliant. I love this. Well done, mate."

Oswald couldn't help but smile too. "Thank you," he gave a small bow.

"We need more than that though. More information. And evidence. You agree?"

"Evidence is powerful," Oswald nodded.

"Exactly," said Grady. "Now how to get it..." She drummed her fingers on the bar then grabbed a screwdriver and disappeared beneath once again.

"This girl...she sleeps with him?"

For some absurd reason, Oswald felt his ears growing red. "I - I believe this is Fish's intention but so far, I think - my understanding is no. No she does not."

"That's too bad. It's so easy to hide things in bedrooms. A small radio buried inside a mattress. You wouldn't believe what there is to learn."

"You don't have to tell me. I bought my life with the name of Fish Mooney's lover."

Grady rose again, running her hands along the underside of the bar, checking her work. "If I design something, can you make sure it finds it's way on this Liza girl?" "Of course," Oswald said.

"Good. Because honestly, that's the difficult bit."

"I'll find a way," he said confidently. These inventions certainly did create interesting possiblities.

"If you can steal some item she normally has on her or an article of clothing, I can work with that."

Oswald nodded absently, the gears in his head already turning.

"Test 1, 2, 3," Grady said to the open air then ran a wire to the stereo behind the bar and played back her voice. Next she walked round the bar a few times, eyes on the all the angles, looking for traces of the wires. "Anyone spots this, they assume it's the phone line or something for the register. Unless someone knows what they're looking for, so caution is key...but this bar is built nice. Someone would have to be nosing around, picking around inside the edge of the bar to find this. I still think it's a stupid place to hide it though. Maroni is an idiot."

Grady leaned forward. Oswald could feel her breath on his face, but he steeled himself and didn't flinch away.

"A couple modifications to this wiring, a power source...and I could make a bomb," she said quietly. "The moron would never know the difference. This restaurant could be rubble whenever I chose."

Oswald felt his eyes widen against his will and Grady grinned.

"Not today though," she laughed, seeing his concern. "It may be fun to do but not especially useful."

"Fish first?" Oswald said.  
>"Fish first," Grady agreed.<br>He could see that light in her eyes again. The glow that revealed a mind that was finely tuned, but a mind that was also irreparably broken. Oswald was pleased to see it. It was a flaw. And flaws could be prodded and worked away at until the entire structure fell to pieces.


	3. Compact

**Thanks for the reviews! **

**Fushia Grasshopper : I'm glad you like her. A smart, Irish crime ring daughter probably can't help but be a little feisty.**

**Muggleborn Princesa: I definitely plan for them to form some kind of bond. A weird and dysfunctional bond. But a bond :) As far as romance goes, I think there's potential for that too, but I'm going to see how things go if that makes sense. I sometimes let characters do their thing, see how things develop and only direct them if I need to (that probably sounds crazy)  
><strong>

***Fun fact: I based the pub in this chapter on a real pub I like to go to sometimes. It's less seedy in real life. Sort of. **

Maroni thought Oswald was buying an overpriced concealed weapon from Grady. She had sent over a message, asking to meet at a pub in a part of the city that even Maroni seemed to shy away from. "You watch yourself down there," he had told him. "Those Irish are nuts. Kill you in broad daylight nuts. Grady's good but she's not that good. Buy from somebody else if you know what's good for ya."

The neighborhood was full of abandoned factories, the broken windows gaping like staring eyes. Piles of trash collected at the gutters. The neighborhood had a dirty, smudged, dull look that was combination of the poverty and the falling snow. Grady stood under a street light bouncing on the balls of her feet to stay warm. Overhead, the pub's half lit broken sign read: Pinhead Susan's.

"You didn't have to wait outside," Oswald said as he emerged from the cab. "It's quite cold, isn't it?"

"It doesn't bother me. I've spent many cold nights outside. You're always so polite," She tugged her hat over her ears and gave him a questioning look.

"Manners can be very persuasive," said Oswald. "Shall we go inside?"

"Of course," Grady led the way inside a crowded pub. "You'll have to excuse the noise. But it's safe here. Owned by a relation of mine. He's either my second cousin three times removed or my third cousin twice removed, I don't remember which."

The small old man in question rushing from the bar to kitchen waved Grady at the upper level. She gave him a nod and Oswald followed her upstairs, leaning heavily on the rail for support.

"Sorry," Grady winced.

"It's nothing," he muttered.

The pub was old and strangely shaped, full of strange nooks and crannies housing tables and mismatched antiques. Grady chose a small booth tucked out of the way in a corner surrounded by tiny shelves of odd ceramic cat statues and peculiar framed newspaper clippings highlighting events that appeared mundane and unimportant. There was a lot of ruckus downstairs, shouts and the sound of breaking glass.

"You called this place safe?" Oswald raised an eyebrow.

"It's fine. Their blood's up is all. It'll happen at least six times before the night is out."

A waiter left two dark lagers. "You hungry?" Grady asked.

"No, thank you," Oswald said, preferring to get this over with.

"Well I hope you like a healthy beer, it's all you'll get around here."

He did not care for dark beers, but drank it to be polite.

"Cheers," said Grady. "What have you got for me?"

Oswald reached in his pocket and dropped a stainless steel compact on the table. "Will this suffice?"

Grady examined the lid carved with a rose and swirling patterns. "That'll do," she turned the compact around and around with her fingertips. "How'd you get it?"

"I broke into her apartment and took it from her purse," Oswald said. He watched Grady's reaction to his methods. Could he shock her, worry her, anger her? Which buttons could be pushed and how?

She did neither of these things and instead nodded and popped open the compact. "You've got guts. No denying that."

She gave him the briefest glance, a disappointing void of her real thoughts on the matter. "Will she be missing this?"

"Possibly. She's beautiful and probably vain."

Grady snorted. "Good. Pretty girls are usually stupid."

Oswald raised his eyebrows. There was an interesting statement. "How do you explain Fish Mooney?"

"I did say usually not always. Well no matter how smart she is, we'll want to return this quickly. Just in case."

She pulled some tools from her jacket pockets which seemed to be bottomless pits. A tiny screwdriver popped the mirror from the casing. Grady held up a small tangle of wires which nested a battery, a flat chip, and other small bits and pieces. "A one way radio, gutted and stripped," she explained.

"Perfect," said Oswald. "My lack of proof is affording Liza a small measure of security."

Grady's nimble fingers froze. "You spoke with her?"

"I frightened her," Oswald said pleasantly. "I simply made my presence known and threatened her with the truth. She wouldn't dare make a move against me with her life at risk. It's not unlike what you've done to me."

"Hey, that's hardly fair sir," Grady smirked. "I proposed an alliance, you blackmailed that girl. Now if it was me, I would have planted this in secret," she tapped the compact with a tube of glue. "Got what I needed, left it at that. But I've asked you to put a little faith in the way I work and I'm willing to do the same for you."

"There is a method to my madness as they say," Oswald said with a crooked grin.

"Alright then Mr. Madness, get this back on her person," Grady slid the compact across the table and Oswald pocketed it. "The receiver's in my workshop. I'll set it recording. If you want to stop by and check it, you have my business card?"

Oswald nodded. The shop in question wasn't far from the very pub they sat in.

"It'll look like a clock shop from the outside. But you know better...I do my real work beyond the curtain behind the counter."

"A clock shop?" he asked curiously.

"You could say it's how I got my start. I inherited it, basically." Grady picked at her nails, avoiding his eyes as she seemed to do whenever the conversation became remotely personal. It was time to press. Just a little.

"I'm sure you know more about me than you've revealed," Oswald said. "I think I ought to know something about you."

"Like what?" she grunted, still avoiding his eyes.

"Who's your father?" He had to start there. Her last name was familiar and she had implied ties to Maroni.

Grady sighed. "Alright...It's not a great story, mine. And I know what you're trying to do." She did look at him now, it was a warning glare both steely and calculating.

Oswald employed his most reasonable tone. "Of course. I couldn't respect you otherwise. And surely you understand."

"I do...so here's the deal. You do something useful, I'll answer a question. For bringing the compact, I'll tell you my father was Tim O'Grady and yes, he headed a crime ring down here in The Burrow. That crime ring is now the one controlled by Pat Hannigan." She stretched her arms behind her head and waited for his response. Her father may not have been the most powerful man in Gotham, but he did have a reputation back in his day.

Oswald sifted through his memory. He had little knowledge of what went on in The Burrow, the neighborhood that Grady called home and even fewer contacts there. But he knew the name Tim O'Grady if not the details surrounding his murder. "Your father. He's..."

"Dead," Grady confirmed.

"At whose hands?"

"The one who did it is a nobody. A thug. Man by the name of George Rice. Indirectly? Falcone is responsible."

Oswald raised an eyebrow.

"You're surprised," she said.

"I don't see the connection."

"There isn't much of one. My Da was an idiot. He made a nuisance of himself to Falcone and the lowest of his underlings was able to do for him. I doubt Falcone even laid eyes on him in person."

She spoke harshly, was almost flippant about her dead father. But Oswald could see her jaw working as she ground her teeth. Slowly the pieces of Ailis O'Grady were coming together to form the broader picture. Oswald leaned forward on his elbows. "You want revenge, Grady?" he said quietly.

She stared back, her eyes three shades darker than usual. "It's not a question of want, is it? I have to."

Oswald smiled and shook a finger at her. "Of course you don't have to. You want it."

She leaned away from him, flopping against the booth. "I've answered a lot more than one question. You'll have to buy me quite a few drinks to get me to say anything more."

"That could be arranged," he laughed.

"Oh no," Grady jammed her hat on her head. "I don't think so. I think you ought to get that compact where it needs to go and come find me once you have. Now you better follow me out. People in here don't always take kindly to strangers."

They weaved their way through the crowded pub. Around a group of men shouting and howling over a soccer match on the TV. Grady tipped her hand at the second or third cousin behind the bar. They almost made it out the door without incident until a red faced man said something to Grady in Gaelic. Oswald could only guess it was offensive as she kicked the leg out of the man's tilting chair to a roar of approval from his friends.

"Irritating but basically harmless," she jerked her head back at the pub as they stepped outside. "You've got a cab coming?"

"Yes, any minute." Oswald popped his umbrella against the mix of slush and rain. "Do you need to share it?"

"I'm just a few blocks off," she pointed vaguely down the dingy street. "I'll be off then, before I'm soaked through."

She wrapped her coat tighter and turned to leave. Oswald watched her take careful steps over the slippery sidewalk.  
>"Grady," he called, the words coming out before he could stop them. She turned and looked back, raising her hood.<p>

"If you want George Rice, I can give him to you," he said.

She gave a short, almost nervous laugh, her breath escaping from her lips in a wispy cloud. "Ah well, don't go out of your way." She shuffled her feet a bit, still smiling as if embarrassed to receive an offer of something thoughtful and pleasant like flowers. "He'll come to me in the end."

"It wouldn't be difficult," Oswald told her.

"I appreciate it but, you know. Don't make a thing of it," She made to grab her hood and realized it was already up. "Well, have a good night."

Grady stomped off into the grey night, arms tucked in against the cold. Oswald decided she was very unusual but like the machines she had such mastery over, he was beginning to see the different pieces moving her about her strange world. He couldn't say why he had made the offer. Perhaps it was as simple as wanting to see what she was capable of.


	4. We Love a Good Explosion

**Since the show will be off for a couple of weeks I suppose I'll really be diverging from it now. Thanks for the review Fuchsia Grasshopper :) **

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><p>Oswald broke into her apartment a second time with ease and something like arrogance. One would imagine that in Liza's position she would be more cautious, make some attempt to at least secure her home. Maybe he hadn't given her enough of a scare.<p>

The purse he had stolen the compact from was nowhere to be seen. Probably dangling from Liza's elbow at that moment. There was another bag on the table and a long cream colored coat draped across the back of a chair. Where to put it? The bag was large and full of a jumble of the usual nonsensical feminine objects that found their way into bags and purses. The jacket had deep pockets and carried an overwhelming smell of lilacs. Not necessarily a bad overwhelming, but the kind that quickened his pulse.

The compact would go unnoticed in the bag for quite some time. It would be noticed quickly in the jacket she wore often and she would question: "Did I put this here? I don't remember..." And then she would forget about it. Or she would wonder each time she used it. Oswald would always choose to add that sense of unease. He slipped the compact into the silky pocket. After considering waiting for her and giving her another fright, he left the apartment as it was except for a missing compact now misplaced in a coat pocket.

* * *

><p>The sign read Sullivan's Joinery and the windows were dark, the door locked. Maybe Grady wasn't in. Oswald tried to peer through the windows but it was so dim and dusty he couldn't make out much beyond the eerie frozen clocks in the window. He was about to turn away and search for a back door when he heard a buzz and the unmistakable noise of a lock click. His eyes scanned the door for a camera but in true Grady style, it was not visible.<p>

The clock shop looked like it had not been used in some time. Everything was covered in a layer of dust, untouched and unused like a time capsule or a tomb. A curtain behind the curtain glowed with light and muffled the quiet mutterings of a radio. Behind it, Oswald found a cluttered living room nearly as dusty as the shop. There were bits of machinery and piles of books and blueprints scattered everywhere, almost burying a couch and an armchair. The small kitchen in the corner was the only space fairly free of mess and to the right was a work area, the most chaotic jumble of them all.

"I thought you'd never turn up," Grady pulled the magnifying goggles off her head. She sat at a long table lit by several glaring lamps surrounded by layers of sketches and designs tacked all over the walls. It was difficult to tell what she was working on but it seemed to involve inserting a blade into the heel of a shoe.

"I've been busy as of late," said Oswald. "And I ran into a little trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" Grady frowned.

"A temporary setback, I assure you," he laughed nervously as though he weren't sure if this was true.

"I'm going to put some tea on. It's good for the nerves." She clattered through some pots and pans and set a battered kettle on the stove. "You can have a seat if you want. Just push things on the floor, it doesn't matter..."

Oswald was about to set a stack of papers on the floor when he heard a deep growl behind him. Slowly he turned and came face to face with an enormous grey dog. The shaggy head was level with his chest and the beast showed him his yellowed teeth.

"Alright Fionn, you're a day late and a dollar short," Grady barked at the dog. Fionn's demeanor changed immediately. He sat obediently and wagged his long tail. "Useless," Grady muttered. "He's meant to guard the place but I'm meaner than he is."

Oswald was not convinced and kept his eyes on the giant dog, hand clutched on his umbrella although it would be useless against such an enormous creature. Grady handed him the tea and rolled her eyes at Fionn. "Really, ignore him. He's harmless."

She plopped down into the armchair, winced, and pulled a large wrench out of the cushions. "Anway, what sort of trouble are you in?"  
>Oswald let the tea warm his hands, eyes on the murky depths. "Falcone believed that Maroni stole his money with my help. He's wasn't pleased with me at all. But I convinced him he has a mole and that I will find it."<p>

Grady raised her eyebrows but wasn't perturbed. "Damned good thing that compact worked then, eh? I've got at least three conversations between Liza and Fish. It should be all the evidence you need."

"Good," Oswald sipped at the tea. "It will wait though. Liza is a time bomb. And timing is everything."

"I'm not sure I follow you," said Grady.

"You will," Oswald grinned. "I've already planted the seeds of suspicion. Falcone may trust Fish now, but he will watch her more closely than he did before. It does no good to get rid of her before the time is right. There will be no room for us to profit. It will be Falcone's victory, not ours."

"I see your point, but you promised Falcone to find his mole. He has sense, but he's not the most patient man either. You must believe me on that one. Don't cross him." The line between her brows and the cold light in her eyes spoke of old memories. And as quickly as this expression appeared, it vanished. Replaced by her gapped tooth grin and almost manic smile. "Unless of course you can get away with it. Then cross him all you like."

"Already done. The mole is dead. Or so Falcone believes. You may hate him Grady, but you must admire his style at least. The man died face down in his dinner in front of all of Falcone's associates and there he stayed until the meal was over," Oswald's face glowed with the thought. "You could see the fear in Fish's eyes."

Grady did not appear as impressed as he with this turn of events. "Well done then. Maybe she'll think twice before blowing up another one of his vans. If Fish is blowing things up, why can't I?" She dropped her empty tea cup on the coffee table and sighed.

"Explosions are a little conspicuous," said Oswald. "I wouldn't have thought that was your style."

"Who doesn't love a good explosion," Grady shrugged. "But this does give me an idea. What Fish did was a bold move. Maybe someone should hit her back. I agree we should wait, so nothing too devastating. But enough to make her nervous."

"Go on..." said Oswald. Anything that hurt Fish was music to his ears.

"Fish is about to make a nice little bit of money. Thursday this week. Falcone doesn't know. It will go untaxed... It would so hurt her pride if something were to happen to that money. To see it go up in smoke the same way Falcone's did. It would make her think, wouldn't it? Wonder who's watching her. Fish doesn't fear you yet, Oswald. But she will."

Oswald folded his hands on the coffee table. "What exactly do you propose?"

* * *

><p>It was beautiful. From high on a lonely hill Oswald watched the truck pull onto the abandoned pier. Fish never handled these things in person but how sweet it would have been for her to see it. The sound was softened by the thin layer of snow like a deep bass drum. The explosion was not large, but contained and practical. Very Grady. It bloomed like a fierce orange flower, enhanced by the setting sun. It took the dock below and dragged the van and the money into the depths leaving not much behind apart from some sparks and ashes and the smoky smell of revenge.<p>

It was a such a relief to see. Because there was a problem. The van had arrived an hour before it was expected.

* * *

><p>Grady knew to leave herself time. She always did. The explosives were rigged beneath the dock well ahead of schedule and then she would wait in the abandoned warehouse up the hill. From there she would detonate. Grady shivered in the damp air and stood to admire her handiwork. Then she heard the crunch of gravel. She pushed up a sleeve to check her watches (she had three) and all of them showed that it was far too early. There wasn't even a proper road down to the docks. No reason for anyone else to be here. If a vehicle was coming, it was most likely her target. In any case, it wasn't good news. Caught on the dock she was exposed. Nowhere to go. Her eyes flicked around her surroundings. About fifty feet down the shore stood another dock, this one half fallen into the river.<p>

It was December. The water would be very unpleasant but it would take some time to die of exposure. There wasn't a choice. Grady dove.  
>It was like the time she had received an electric shock. Her body spasmed and she felt the air she held her in lungs escape in bubbles from her nose. Her heavy jacket absorbed the water like a sponge. The combination of the downy material and the objects in the pockets weighed her down as if she wore a suit of stone. It was not difficult to stay hidden with her head below the surface. She fought. Grady had never been a wonderful swimmer but when her life depended on it, she could do anything well enough to get by.<p>

She was dizzy from lack of oxygen and had no idea how close she was to the shelter of the broken docks. Heavy boots kicked, her arms reached for the surface and she allowed herself one moment of saving, stinging breath. Through the droplets in her eyes she saw the blurred shape of the dock within a few lengths reach and dove under again. Her arms and legs were seizing, stiff, heavy as lead. Her lungs burned and cried for air. And then the water pushed her into a tangle of rubble. Something snagged her leg and she watched dark blood bloom around her. Hands pushing against the slippery pieces of the dock, she pulled herself above water. Air never tasted so good. Hugging a post for support, she bobbed concealed beneath the dock. At least she could breath, but her body was quaking with shivers.

On the opposite dock she watched the van park and flick it's headlights off. She couldn't feel her fingers, had little control of her hands, but managed to reach into her shirt where she had stuffed the detonator. She had the foresight to waterproof it as she had the other components of the device. Just in case.

When she hit the button, she could have sworn she heard heavenly music. For a moment the cold was forgotten. The flames were fast, hot, and brilliant. A great wonderful wave swallowed the van and dock whole, rippling out and swamping her. Her mouth filled with water. After a minute of chaos, she surfaced again choking. No sign of the van except for the floating pieces and more importantly, no sign of any passengers.

Her fingers fought for a hold on the damp mossy dock but slipped and shook. Her arms were like rubber, unlikely to even lift her.  
>"Don't die here," she told herself. "This is not how you die. You always knew how you would die. And this isn't it."<p>

She kicked with her feet, trying desperately to boost herself up onto the dock but she couldn't get high enough. The more she struggled, the weaker she became, the more she choked on her gasping breath.

And then something yanked hard on the back of her jacket. She jerked upwards in reach of the dock and threw up her arms, catching the edge with her elbows. Someone was pulling her out.

"Come on. Help me," she heard him gasp.

She found a foothold and pushed upwards. He grabbed her beneath the arms and tugged. They fell onto the dock in a sopping tangle.

"Grady, are you insane?" hissed Oswald. "Why didn't you run?"

Grady lay on her back, staring at the murky clouds above. She had expected to feel warmer out of the water but she didn't. "They would have seen," she managed to say around her chattering teeth.

"So they would have seen and they would have died, taking the information to the grave with them." His eyes scanned the smoking wreckage, searching for survivors.

"I couldn't risk it," she whispered. The sky seemed brighter now, the snow whiter. Was she getting warmer?

"You and I have very different definitions of the word risk. Get this off, it's full of water." Oswald yanked at her sodden jacket and Grady tried to shrug out of it but her mind and limbs didn't seem connected. He gave her a rough shake.

"Stay awake Grady or you're lost!" he shouted.

"Yeah, I'm fine..." she muttered. As consciousness returned so did the horrible cold. Oswald pulled his jacket tight around her shoulders.

"My driver is coming," he said. "We need to get out of here."

"Your driver shouldn't see -," she began to protest but he wound a scarf around her head like a mummy and speech became almost impossible.

She was as unpredictable as Oswald had feared, but he couldn't allow her to die yet. Not after she risked her life to ensure well executed revenge. Not when she had so many more uses.


	5. The First Umbrella

**Thanks again for the review Fuchsia Grasshopper :)  
><strong>

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><p>They had driven quickly with the heat blasting on Grady. Oswald leaned between the front seats to watch her carefully and gave her a shake when her eyes started to shut. It took far too long to open the door to the clock shop as Grady's keys were buried in one of the numerous pockets of the soaked jacket she had discarded.<p>

"Get dry. I'll make tea," Oswald instructed.

Grady limped around the corner to her room. The right hand leg of her pants was soaked with blood. Oswald rifled through the cabinets, searching for tea in the jumble of pots and pans. Like the rest of the place, there was no system. A can of motor oil was nestled among the glasses. A loud thud sounded from the bedroom.

"Grady?" She must have fallen over.

"M'alright," he heard her say.

It occurred to him that she may need help but he couldn't ask. It would be the height of presumption. Feeling unsettled, he busied himself with the kettle.

She emerged wearing what looked like a dozen sweaters and a pair of flannel pants. After stumbling into the bathroom, she retrieved medical tape and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

"Here," Oswald guided her to the couch by the elbow. "Let's have a look."

Grady yanked up the end of her pants leg to reveal a small puncture and scrape above the ankle.

"It's not so bad. I've had worse," Oswald told her.

Grady grunted and tipped some peroxide over the wound where it bubbled and foamed a frothy white. Her clumsy fingers struggled with the tape, searching for the end. Wordlessly, Oswald took the tape and wrapped it around the gauze on her injury. Her ankle was small and white as bone and it was icy cold to the touch.

"Drink," he handed her the tea and she wrapped her hands around the steaming porcelain mug, the heat just barely reaching her numb fingertips.

"I was in the river once too," Oswald said. "It was much warmer then. But my leg was broken."

"Is that where Gordon left you?" she asked. Oswald nodded. She didn't look like the Grady he was used to, curled under quilts, white as a sheet, her eyes soft and sleepy. He knew little about hypothermia but he had no doubt she had it.

"You shouldn't have brought your driver here. It's a bad idea to be seen with me. He'll know we're working together." Her voice was quiet and her accent thicker than he'd ever heard it.

"Again with this? I pay him well, but if you're that concerned, I'll kill him," Oswald waited for her response but she remained quiet. He couldn't read her expression which was still soft and subdued. "I'd rather not though. He's good at what he does," he added.

Grady shook her head weakly. "Forget it. I should thank you. I'm not sure if I would have made it out on my own. I won't forget that."

"I shall take full advantage," Oswald said.

"I bet," Her mouth twitched in the barest hint of a smile. "You got me out of there because you either have a plan for me or you're more decent than I thought you were. Which is it?"

"Why can't it be both?" Oswald's secretive smirk made an appearance.

"Fair enough," Grady mumbled. "I don't think I'll ever be warm again." She buried herself more deeply beneath the quilts.

"Try to remember that next time you're contemplating jumping in a freezing river," he laughed.

"I would kick you if my feet were working." A lump under the blankets flopped a few times but he remained safe. "I feel funny. Really weird. Freezing, burning, stiff, tired."

"I'll get you more tea," Oswald offered. When he handed her the drink his fingers brushed hers. "Still very cold," he said, tracing the back of her hand.

"No kidding," she mumbled.

He took a seat again. "Saving your life is worth a few questions I would imagine."

"Damn, I'd forgotten about that," she groaned. "But you're right."

He gestured at the dark curtain. "How did you get the clock shop?"

"It was my grandfather's business," she spoke to her tea.

"I'm sorry," Oswald said. The untouched nature of the shop led him to conclude he had died some years ago.

"Yeah...died because again, my Da was an idiot. Grandpa though, he wasn't like the others. All he did was this business, didn't want to get involved in anything else you know. But he wouldn't just watch his family get into trouble if there was something he could do about it. He was too good." A flicker of anger lit her eyes but it was dulled. "That's what happens when you're good. So don't get too decent."

"I don't think you need to concern yourself there," Oswald joked, but found he couldn't smile.

"I learned to work with machines on the clocks," she offered, her eyes meeting his now instead of the depths of her tea. "Sometimes I make one, fix one. Just because I like to."

There was indeed no such thing as silence in Grady's home. The air was filled with the soft ticking of the hour.

"Did someone kill your grandfather?" he asked quietly.

"Yes. No...it was an accident. It's a long story. Please don't make me tell it. I try not to think about it but it's hard enough when I've got his clocks sounding out the hour." She closed her eyes and rubbed at her temple.

She had told him what he needed to know. Her grandfather was the other key player in her makeup, but she was not out to avenge him. "You're more angry about the death of your father?"

She shook her head, holding it in her hands. "No. Not really." She set down her tea and pulled her hands beneath the blankets. She gave Oswald the strange unidentifiable look again. "I'm only telling you this because you saved my life. And I'm sick, I'm not thinking straight. And you insist on trying to pick me apart when you've probably figured out by now I'm half mad, and that's all you really need to know."

Her eyes grew dull again as the light left them and she drew deeply into her own mind. "My Da may not have killed my Grandpa with his own hands, but he's responsible all the same. My Grandpa was the only person who ever cared for me and was kind to me just because he liked being around me. Bothered to teach me things, listen to me. The way I was raised, the way we live around here...someone takes somebody like that from you, you take what's most important to them. For my Da that was his own worthless skin. It should have been me that took his life. But part of it was timing is everything like you said a few days ago. And part of it was, I didn't have the guts and he was my Da and all. Either way, it didn't matter. Falcone took that chance from me. Now I have to even the score but I'm not sure it's possible because it's all become a mess."

"I understand. Justice does not come easily," Oswald told her. "I know what it is to feel powerless against a force that can take everything from you. To rise, to grow stronger, to fight, to put your enemies in the same place they once put you, is only natural. And if you're half mad, if you're insane, then so am I."

"A fine team we make then. You're quite good as far as partners go." Her eyes drooped and her expression was truly soft now. In her face was the shadow of a girl who had once had a grandfather that she laughed with and who taught her to make clocks and while she knew more terrible things than she ought to at such a young age, she still believed her life could be simple and good.

"I need to sleep," she said, her eyes nearly shut.

"I'm afraid you'll become unconscious," Oswald protested.

"I won't," she mumbled.

"I think I ought to stay. To make sure." She was still pale as death and sleep looked too similar.

She managed a snort of a laugh. "What would you even do if I passed out?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. So please try to refrain."

She was already asleep. Her breath heavy and wheezing in an unhealthy rasp. No, it wasn't safe to leave her alone just yet. Fionn sat up straight like a sentinel, eyes on Oswald. He still didn't like the dog. Fionn was a giant that could easily tear his arm off no matter what Grady said. It made him nervous to have a look around the place when Fionn's eyes were on him but to do anything less would be a wasted opportunity.

The jumbled half formed bits of machinery made little sense to him. As for the completed devices, he had the feeling if there was something he wanted Grady would let him have it. A closer look at the stacks of books revealed that most of them were old science fiction novels, not books on engineering or mechanics although a few of them were mixed in here and there. Apart from the tiny bathroom there were two doors. The first held a room stuffed with screens and speakers but they were all dark and silent. They could only be activated by a master computer which was of course, password protected. The second, half opened door led to her bedroom, pitch black. He lingered there a moment, hand on the doorknob.

Oswald looked at Grady who was frowning and wheezing in her sleep. Fionn had his head laid across her feet while he stared pitifully at her. Try as he might, Oswald couldn't bring himself to search her room. He returned to the living room and slid open a desk drawer. In it, he found stacks of manuals, rumpled blueprints, old newspapers. He picked up an old watch manual and a stack of polaroid photos slid to the floor. She was very young in the first photo but there was no mistaking Grady's flyaway hair and the gap between her front teeth, exposed in a huge smile. Only her eyes were really different. Free from anger, crinkled at the corners to reveal true, innocent happiness unlike her usual manic, almost nervous smiles. The next photo showed a man with curly hair, a square jaw, and a scar under his left eye. He recognized her features him. This was her father, Tim O'Grady. In another picture, young Grady was prying a screwdriver into the innards of a clock. And in the next she crouched by a tall grandfather clock with a man who must have been her grandfather himself. A small white haired man with round glasses. He was pointing to something in the clock and in another photo he swung a laughing Grady through the air. The last of the stack showed Grady, a bit older now, but still with an innocent smile posing with a clock that she had likely made herself.

Oswald put the photos back in the watch book and shut the drawer. Probably due to the intensity of their mission, the scare of her nearly drowning or freezing, he felt guilty for seeing those photos which was something he felt very seldom.

With a sigh he dropped back down on the couch. This business was becoming more complicated. Grady was still breathing loudly, her breath sounded like it was passing through wet, sickly lungs. Oswald lay a hand on her forehead to check her temperature. It seemed normal. Warm, but not feverish. Her hair was soft and light like feathers.

She had a hand curled near her ear and he checked this too since it had been cold as a corpse earlier. Clammy, but improved now. When her fingers tightened around his he felt snared. Afraid to move and wake her. Caught doing what exactly? Simply checking to make sure she wasn't dead.

He stayed still until eventually all the ticking lulled him to sleep.

* * *

><p>He woke before dawn. His bad leg was asleep. Probably because Fionn was laying on it. A stiff neck made moving and waking an ungraceful process. Oswald looked to Grady who was still fast asleep, breath rattling like it was before. He placed a hand on her forehead again. Then her cheek. Shoulder, arm. At least she was warm now. It was time to leave.<p>

He returned again that afternoon because he had left behind his umbrella. How this had happened he wasn't sure. Because he didn't like to go without it. He had a strange attachment to it. Not only did the umbrella help him to walk, but it had weathered many storms with him both literally and figuratively.

Oswald wondered if Grady would open the door or if she was still asleep but the lock clicked and he found her inside. Working as usual and coughing heavily. Her nose was red and she looked rather grumpy.

"Forget something?" she said and swung the umbrella.

"Yes, thank you. I know it seems silly to come all this way for it but..." he gestured to his lame leg with the toe pointed out to the side.

"I'm glad you left it," Grady began. "I know it isn't much, but I wanted to do something. And I know you have this with you a lot. So I made a quick modification. Watch the end."

She held the umbrella aloft like a sword and with a soft click, a good sized razor blade emerged from the tip. "You know how you slide the button up to open it? Just push down for the knife. Very fast access if you're jumped. It's unexpected, and it gives you a good reach."

The blade disappeared back inside the dark recesses. She flipped the umbrella around and held it out to Oswald, offering him the handle as if it really were a sword. "What do you think?"

Oswald tested it himself and examined the fine blade.

"I've never modded an umbrella before but I've got loads of ideas now for other innovations. I know this one's a bit small and simple," she babbled almost nervously.

He could imagine the look of surprise that would appear when one moment there was a harmless umbrella pointed at his enemy and the next they had a knife in their belly.

"It's genius, Grady," he grinned.

Oswald Cobblepot would own a range of umbrellas throughout his life. Each of them hid something both surprising and sinister. So maniacally creative that they left many a poor shocked soul wondering with their last dying thoughts, how such a device was even possible. Yes, Oswald would own many interesting umbrellas. But this was the first.


	6. Tick Tock

**Thanks again for the review FuchsiaGrasshopper, you're awesome :) **

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><p>Oswald had never had any friends. He was more aware of this as a small child when instead of companions, he returned home with cuts and bruises. As he grew older, his broken mind and spirit were tricked into believing that the people he manipulated into helping him were his friends. Jim Gordon. Maroni at a stretch. Then there was Grady.<p>

Grady had come to him willingly because she recognized his skill. She was undoubtedly useful, brilliant, calculating. At worst, wild and impulsive with a cold, quick temper. But at best she was a bright spot he had been lacking in his life for so long. Like the day Fionn had gotten loose and she chased him down the alley. When she finally caught up with him, the dog knocked her down and covered her with mud. She had laughed like a child. Oswald liked her. He really did.

But he had not yet recognized that she was the closest thing to a real friend that he had. Although he did find it strange that he regretted exploiting the weakness he had discovered, something that had never happened before. It was clear from the way that Grady either smiled or blustered around when he did something to help her that she wanted someone to be kind to her as her grandfather once was. Someone that understood her or at the very least didn't flinch away from her quirks. This was a weakness in her. It was ironic that Oswald didn't realize their friendship considering she was not so different from him. But people have a funny way of spotting flaws in others that they can't see in themselves.

With one more gesture of his fondness for her, he would have her. She wouldn't refuse what he asked, he was certain. It would pain her to give it but there was no one else that could supply what he needed. The line he walked between Falcone and Maroni was growing thin as a knife's edge. He needed a scapegoat and fast. He could ask Grady for what he needed now and if she refused, negotiate. But he preferred to win her over and not sour things between them. They had passed the last week or so in a string of robberies and petty crimes. The two of them were growing restless and with tension rising with both Maroni and Falcone, Oswald knew he had to act soon.

They wandered the edge of the Burrow along the river on a rare sunny day. Lately Grady had asked him to meet her often on the pretext of business but they seemed to end up wandering outside. He let her show him the Burrow, tell him stories. And while she talked, he learned, and then he got an idea.  
>Grady was chewing on a sandwich from a corner store and leaning over the railing to watch the river. Oswald's eyes scanned the streets as he schemed, half listening.<p>

"Can't believe I jumped into the great nasty thing," Grady said and chucked the rest of the sandwich into the brown churning waters. "You know I still don't think I've been properly warm since it happened."

"Hmm," Oswald said deep in thought.

"I heard a strange thing. A couple of strange things more like. Everyone's concerned with it of course. I'm surprised you haven't brought it up in fact. Are you listening? Oswald?"

He was watching a highly suspect van outside the corner store, lost in thought.

"Hey...Penguin," she tried.

That got his attention. He rounded on her, face transformed by fury like he had put on a ferocious mask. "Don't call me that!" he shouted.  
>Grady looked as if he'd punched her in the gut. "Well cripes, everyone else does."<p>

"Not you," he growled. He held the rail along the river in a death grip, glowering over the water and the skyline on the other side. "If we're really partners, you won't call me that."

"Sorry," she mumbled, still looking stricken. "It's not like I said it to take the piss out of you."

He sighed. "I apologize. I know you didn't. I was given that name to put me in my place, low as can be, a mockery of everything from the way I look, to the way I walk, to my station. I hear it from my enemies. I was not prepared to hear it from you."

"I didn't mean it that way. I thought you didn't mind. I've heard you use it." She was truly sorry, no longer offended but ashamed.

"I don't want to let them use it to have power over me so I'm trying to take ownership of the name. But it can be difficult... you didn't know, that was unfair of me." He was almost calm now. Hearing the name was an attack and while Grady may have been sarcastic, she had never been cruel. It had caught him off guard.

But to see her frown at him with concern was soothing. He had never seen Grady look concerned over anyone. Machines yes, but never people. "I won't say it again," she told him and gave him a nudge with her shoulder. "Don't hate me?"

He lay a hand on the shoulder she used. "I don't hate you," he said and she seemed pleased. It was almost too easy. Feed her small kindnesses, plead for her help, and she would give whatever he needed. Oswald was so wrapped in his world of schemes, manipulations, and means to an end that he had no idea that many relationships worked in just this way.

"Now, what were you trying to tell me?" They walked back in the direction of the clock shop.

"I know this girl Selina. I sometimes buy from her. Just a kid, but a lot of potential. And I normally hate kids, they're rude and smell bad."

"That's babies Grady, children don't usually smell," he pointed out.

"Well one's as unpleasant as the other in my books...anyway, she was nearly killed. High profile assassins after her because she was witness to the Wayne murders."

And for the rest of the walk to the shop, Grady tried to convince him that the identity of the murderer was important while Oswald tried to explain that the murder had created chaos in Gotham which was very good luck and good luck should not be questioned which she thought was ridiculous. For an Irish woman, Grady did not seem to have a very good understanding of luck.

* * *

><p>As anticipated, it and been easy to deliver him to the alley behind Grady's clock shop. Oswald's driver left him bound and gagged. The man would not be missed. And if Falcone did happen to ask? Oswald had covered up much more serious matters than this. But the man was nobody. Except to Grady.<br>He grabbed George Rice by the hair, turning his head back and forth to look up and down the alley.

"Do you know where you are?" Rice couldn't answer of course, gagged as he was, his bulging eyes rolling in fear.

"I would be nervous too, George," Oswald gave him a pat on the head. "My friend has been waiting to meet you for quite some time. But I believe you know her. People call her Grady."

First his face was confused, dumb and piggy and then his eyes went wide again when he remembered. Rice grunted around the gag and Oswald chuckled.  
>"You didn't remember her. Oh George. I'm afraid she won't be happy. She hasn't forgotten you. How could she? I'll go get her now. She'll be so thrilled to see you."<p>

The grunting grew louder and more frantic, Rice shook his head.

"Don't fret George," Oswald smiled. "This is a reunion, a happy day."

When that didn't quiet the man, Oswald struck him with his umbrella.

* * *

><p>He let himself in the front door. It was late and Grady should have been asleep but she sometimes kept odd hours. Yes, there was still a light behind the curtain. Fionn rushed to greet him and Oswald gave him a scratch between the ears. Grady was asleep on the couch, several blueprints spread across her like blankets.<p>

Asleep she was smooth faced and untroubled, the girl who laughed and chased Fionn around. When she woke, she would transform into a fury. Did he want to see it so badly? Was it better to leave her asleep? No, Grady would want to be woken, he was sure of it. Maybe his fascination with her was in her duality anyway. He gave her a gentle shake.

Grady sat quickly, knocking her blueprints around but relaxed when she saw who it was.

"What's wrong?" she mumbled thickly.

"I'm sorry for the late hour. But this is how things played out. I told you shortly after we met that there was something I could do for you."  
>Grady shook a mass of hair out of her eyes. "What?" she frowned.<p>

He took Grady's thin fingered hand which gave life to many a machine and would soon take the life of the man outside.

"George Rice is in the alley behind your shop. He's yours." Oswald placed his switchblade in her hand and closed her fingers around it. "Time to even up the score. Right?"

She stared at the knife as if she didn't understand what she was looking at. "How. How did you-"

"I told you it wouldn't be difficult and it wasn't," Oswald said. "I know that to you this is everything, for me it was nothing. Think of it as the least I could do."

Grady shook her head, eyes flashing with a range of emotion, a storm was brewing inside of her. "Falcone already mistrusts you. Now you'll be responsible for one of his missing men..."

"It's a trifle Grady," He gripped the hand holding the knife again. "Go take what's yours."

She gripped the knife so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her face was dark, the whites of her eyes wild. "I knew he would come to me," she said. "You're sure?"

"Of course," Oswald led her to the back door. She paused at the handle.

"I'm sorry. I know it's ungrateful to ask," she said. "But this is something I should do alone."

Oswald was disappointed to be sure. He had dearly wanted to see Grady lose control and make the man suffer. But there had been a purpose to this and the purpose was to keep her happy. He nodded once.

"Thank you," she said. As she turned to open the door and stalked outside, Oswald would have described her as an angel of death all cold, swift, justice, hell itself to the man in the alley who could almost be pitied.

* * *

><p>And George Rice did tremble when Grady approached.<p>

"Good evening George," she said. With a shove, she toppled him face first to the pavement then kneeled on his back. She grabbed a handful of his greasy curls and swiveled his head around to see her. "My name is Ailis O'Grady," she told him. "You killed my father, Tim O'Grady. I will not kill a bound man so I'm going to release you, but rest assured you will die drowning in your own blood like my father did. You should not have killed a Burrow boy. We live by a code here, it's nothing personal. Your gag stays. I have no interest in your last words."

She sawed through the binds on his hands and when he was free, he immediately pushed away, tried to struggle. Grady brought the knife down into his back, her grip tight, the entry angled so the blade wouldn't stick.

"I could make this quick," Grady grunted, but Rice disagreed. She had time to think that they always had to choose the hard way before there was chaos. But oh, how alive she was.

She stuck the knife where she could, did not feel any of the pain inflicted on her. Grady smelled blood. She'd waited years for the smell of his blood, hoping it could wash over the memory of her father's. If the years leading up to this has had been a twisting rapid river she had reached the waterfall and now she was plummeting down. Finally she was able to seize his hair again, the knife at his throat.

"Easy friend," Grady panted. "Have some respect for death now. It's here for you and it will come for me too."

Three o'clock. There was an eruption of chimes and rings and bells from her shop, a flood of sound. "Tick tock," Grady whispered. "Tick tock." The knife opened his throat and then there was a storm, a flood of a different kind. Warm and red all over Grady, her own blood pounding in her ears in time with the clocks. Tick tock.

* * *

><p>When Oswald opened the door for her, Grady's sweater had turned from grey to red.<p>

"Done," she said and handed him back the knife.

He followed her to the bathroom where she dropped the sweater with an ugly wet splat on the floor. Her tank top was cleaner but still dotted with incriminating red spots. She scrubbed at her arms in the sink, the water flowing pink. Then he saw another spot just above her waist where her shirt stuck to her, the blood dark.

"Grady, what's this?"

She glanced down but continued scrubbing at her hands. "Dunno," she mumbled. "Hadn't noticed."

He pushed up the hem of her shirt and found blood bright against her pale belly. "How did this happen?" he asked, truly puzzled.

"I couldn't kill a bound man," Grady said quietly.

"Ridiculous," Oswald snapped as he retrieved bandages. "This code you all live by. If this was any deeper, it would be dangerous. An unnecessary risk."

"I know, I know," she growled. "That's just how it is."

"Take care of your wound Grady," Oswald thrust the bandages at her.

Her hands shook as she turned off the tap and dropped the bandages.

Oswald picked them up again. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong, I just killed a guy," she blustered.

"And surely it wasn't your first," Oswald ripped open the bandage packaging.

"No, of course not," she mumbled and stuck the patch over the wound then stomped out of the bathroom, Oswald hobbling to keep up. She grabbed another sweater and pulled it haphazardly over her head. "It's just - it's just," she smoothed at her wild hair, hands raking at it frantically. "Funny isn't it. How he's dead. And my Da...he's still gone too. Not like I expected anything different but..."

"I thought I was helping you," Oswald said, baffled now.

"You were, believe me you did. I had to do this. And I've waited and now that's it's over," she shrugged.

"You enjoyed it though?" he ginned, hoping for a glimpse of the bloodshed he'd missed.

He was not disappointed. "Oh aye," she said, her smile wicked. "I enjoyed it."

His hand seemed to move without his mind's permission to reach out and touch the spot where her cheek dimpled. "Well worth it then."

"Thank you," she said, cheeks flushing deeper red. "It seems I owe you twice over now. Once for the river, once for this. If there's anything I can do, just ask."

Perfect. Oswald couldn't have asked for any better. Grady, dear Grady. He had her right where he needed her now.


	7. We Are a Train Wreck

**Thank you so much for reviews FuschiaGrasshopper and FrostyAutumn! **

**It's super lame but I have a writing playlist for this story so if you want to listen here's the 8tracks: /janeyjjammerton/burrowing (I mean I'm super lame. The playlist is pretty good.) **

* * *

><p>Grady had not been the same since she killed George Rice. Not because she felt guilty, she felt no remorse whatsoever. In her mind, she had repaid blood for blood and done no more than what the natural order of things commanded of her.<p>

"I think it's one of those existential crisis things," she told Oswald. "It's what I saw at the end of my road for a long time and now it's gone and I don't know where I'm going. It's like this time when I was nine, I was on the other end of the Burrow trying to get home during a snowstorm and could only see 2 feet in front of me. You know how everything's so narrow over here, the snow was banking up against all the buildings. I didn't know which street was where and then after a bit I got confused what direction I was facing."

"What did you do?" Oswald asked.

"Oh, I found a pub and asked for directions. Some ancient German woman in the flat next door let me wait out the storm in her kitchen, gave me tea and all," Grady said. "The end of that story wasn't as interesting as the beginning. Lucky I went in the right pub. If it was someone who wasn't keen on my Da I would have been better off in the storm."

"Something tells me a pub isn't going to help you this time," Oswald said thoughtfully. Grady's slump was worrying. He needed her help now and he banked on her being grateful enough to give it.

"Sad but true," Grady said. "But I would be game for going to pub right now."

"I need to ask you something important," Oswald began. There was no time to hook Grady further. He had to make it work now and all he could do was hope he knew her well enough to steer her in the right direction.

"And you don't want to talk about it down to pub," Grady finished for him.

"I would rather not," Oswald said slowly.

Grady sighed and settled back in her seat. He almost reconsidered, if he could get her drinking at the pub she might be more agreeable or she could be much more stubborn. It was impossible to tell. Only once had he seen Grady somewhat drunk. It was a few days after the George Rice incident. She had put her foot in an icy puddle which made her furious and tried to teach Oswald how to curse in Gaelic which she insisted he try to pronounce and then got frustrated when he refused or said them wrong. No, he did not want to deal with that again.

"I may have located Falcone's 'mole' but each time Maroni makes a move against him, I am under scrutiny. I steer Maroni away from Falcone, again, I'm greeted with suspicion. This will not last much longer."

"No one ever said playing two sides was easy," Grady said. But she was thinking already, leaning her chin on her fist. "Surely Falcone realizes the situation you're in though, he's not stupid."

"Stupid, no. Not at all. But he's losing his grip. We knew this. He's paranoid. And not willing to take chances. Which puts me in a dangerous position." Oswald allowed himself to look afraid. He needed Grady worried. It was almost nice to think that she would be worried just for his sake. But if necessary, he would assure her that if he went down, she would go right alongside him.

Grady looked at a loss. "What do you want to do?"

"I need a scapegoat Grady," Oswald leaned forward. "It needs to be someone from outside the usual families. I need to take his eyes off of Maroni. A group with enough force to be believable, but a group that is unexpected."

She understood what he was asking for before he even finished. There was no one as quick as Grady. Her eyes went round.

"No," she said. "There's got to be another way. I can't give you Burrow Boys. I just can't. You think I've got no standards?"

"I wouldn't ask you this if there any other way. Believe that." It even came across as sincere because it was the truth.

"We'll just get rid of Maroni then. He's the problem," Grady sputtered and Fionn whined, sensing her distress.

"You know as well as I that even if we could manage it, it would be like setting a bomb off in the middle of Gotham. Completely unpredictable consequences. Consequences that could get me killed."

"So turn in Liza! Prove to Falcone that half of this is Fish anyway! What've we been sitting on the evidence for?"

Oswald remained patient, even though her temper flared like a child's. "Because Liza is the key to Falcone's undoing. She's going to burn him from the inside out," Oswald explained.

"Or so we hope! We don't know what she'll do but we can't get pretty Liza into trouble can we." Fionn barked as if he agreed.

"You're being ridiculous Grady," Oswald said. It was all he could do not to laugh at how she pouted.

"I'm not," she huffed. "What you're asking for is cruel, man. You want me to send Falcone after the Burrow Boys, just like he came after my Da and his boys. Asking me to betray my neighborhood like it's nothing."

"What have the Burrow Boys ever done for you Grady?" Oswald asked quietly. "I'm asking you to help me. To save me. Like I saved you from the river."

Her eyes steeled right up. "And you knew I couldn't say no to you, didn't you."

"That's not why I saved you from drowning. You don't believe I could think that far ahead?" Oswald laughed.

"I do believe you could," Grady said coldly. "I think that's why you brought me George Rice too."

She had him there. It stung. But not like it used to when he was bitter when she was a step ahead of him or saw through him. It stung because he wished he could deny it. "You can believe what you want Grady, I can't show you what's in my mind."

"Oh yes, you're good," she groaned and rubbed her eyes. "That's the whole stupid reason I wanted to work with you... I'll set up the Burrow Boys. It's going to be risky and I'm going to hate myself every damn second of it, but I'll do it. And well done, I suppose. For a second, I really thought you gave me Rice just because you wanted to. Now I have to help you because Rice going missing is probably part of the reason Falcone's breathing down the back of your neck."

"I took risks for you and now I need you to do the same for me because you're the only one who can. That's what friends do, am I mistaken?" He gave her an innocent shrug.

Grady rolled her eyes and said to Fionn: "Apparently I need some lessons from the friendship expert, over here. I've been doing it all wrong. Seems it involves a lot of tricks and schemes."

Fionn whined quietly.

* * *

><p>It started with a some robberies of the kind Maroni pulled on Falcone or at least was suspected of pulling. Grady worked her magic to assure that the Burrow Boys were in the right place at the right time. The last robbery was risky and Grady insisted they needed to be nearby in case something went awry. And it had been a good call. A small group lagged behind, missed the getaway and they'd had to send Oswald's driver racing the ten blocks to pick them up. This left Oswald and Grady to hoof it through midtown Gotham.<p>

Grady who normally loved robberies was as miserable as she'd promised. Sulking and nearly stomping through the falling snow.

"We're going to need to blame someone for passing the location to the Burrow soon," Oswald reminded her gently (and he felt, at great risk to his life.)

"Working on it," Grady grunted. "I've got a several things in play and it's like juggling at the moment."

"What else?" Oswald frowned.

"I'm preparing," she raised an eyebrow at him. "Can't you see how this could end?"

"I don't know what you mean," he said nervously.

"You might be pleasantly surprised. That's all I'll say for now."

They trudged on quietly through the crowds of Christmas shoppers. They were a sharp dark contrast to the cheery faces around them.

"If you want to go to your Ma's, I might catch a cab up here," Grady nodded to the busy shopping district swarming with twinkling lights and shoppers and cars although the hour was growing late. "Sooner rather than later I hope," Grady shivered. "Still never been warm after that damn river, I swear. Why is it some things just get in your bones and never come out?"

They joined a mob of people sifting in and out of taxis. Oswald looked for Grady, about to depart and get on a subway to his mother's house. But he found she wasn't even looking at the taxis but staring into the huge department store windows. A beautiful tree well over ten feet tall stood proudly amidst the busy shoppers who were rushing to complete last minute purchases or idling around the tree to watch the toy train circle round and round. Grady stood so close to the window that her breath fogged it.

"Look at all these stupid normal people," she whispered. Oswald had to step closer to hear her.

"It's always been like this," she continued. "I can see them but I'm not really part of them. There's a something in the way."

She dragged her finger through the steamed glass. "Do you know what I mean?"

"We're different," he agreed, not wanting to say anything else when she was in such a strange mood.

"I wonder what it's like," she looked in the window as though what were inside truly weren't real, just a dream or something on the TV. "They walk around thinking of gifts and flights and relatives, that's what they worry about. Or maybe they don't even worry at all. Can you imagine? They don't know what we know. They don't really know what's out there. And we could have been them. We could have been. If only our brains worked right and someone bothered to explain to us what Christmas even is instead of kicking us into a snow bank. Just think about that. We were almost one of these people."  
>As Grady spoke the world felt strangely unreal for a few moments as she gave voice to things Oswald had been aware of for some time but never really thought about. When she turned to him her eyes sparkled strangely like maybe she might cry. He wished for it to be over, he didn't know what he would do if Grady cried.<p>

"It's not like we asked to be ourselves," she said. She sneered and looked back in the window. "Every person in there would hate us if they knew who we really were, but it's not like we asked. We were made. And they don't know that. They don't know what's watching them through this window. When they think about dying they worry about stupid ordinary things like diseases and car crashes and age. Can you imagine having the luxury of dying just because you've seen it all and your heart's worn out? That's not how I'll die. I've known for years how I'll die. I can try and try but this thing we do will go out of control. One day I'll slip up and I'll die choking on my own blood. Just like my father."

Grady smiled but her eyes were wet now. Just a little. Oswald did not feel well, it was like a fist was squeezing on his heart. "It won't happen Grady," he said. "The day we met, you said we'd rise so high no one could touch us. You're not your father. You're too smart for that."

"No one ever wins this game we're playing," she said. "You and I know that, we just tell ourselves otherwise because we've got no choice but to play. We're a train wreck waiting to happen, the more speed we pick up the uglier it'll be in the end."

"I've cheated death at least three times," Oswald said. "I plan to continue that pattern until I'm old enough to need a cane for reasons other than my crooked leg."

This got the smallest smirk from her. "I can almost believe it for you. Me, I knew when I watched my Da die that I'd go the same way. That's how it always ends for us Burrow brats," she said. "I've grown used to the idea."

He couldn't take Grady without the spark and the visions of grandeur. Couldn't stand another minute of her staring forlornly at the gaudy Christmas tree. He spun her to look at him, holding her face with both hands.

"Look at me," he said a little too roughly. "You're going to die older than you can imagine being. Older than some of your antiques. You'll be all grey hair and wrinkles and missing teeth and you'll be crazier than you are now. I'll be sure of it."

He had planned all along to break Grady and now that she was crumbling, he felt an absurd responsibility to catch her quickly before the damage was done. Without her, he felt he would be missing an important fixed point. He told himself it was because she was far from outliving her usefulness yet. He had to. The only alternative was to wonder who was really playing who. Already he was smoothing down her stubborn, wild hair because his hands sometimes had a disturbing tendency to move of their own accord when it came to dealing with Grady.

At least the gap in her teeth was showing again. She was hardly herself without it.

"Nah, don't let me become an old lady." She stepped closer, much too close. "You're right. I'll be completely mad and I'll have too many cats," she mumbled into his shoulder.

For a few moments the glass window didn't exist, there was no barrier. For a short few moments they were not so different from everyone else on the busy street.


	8. The Second Umbrella

**Thank you FuschiaGrasshopper, FrostyAutumn, and Persephoniii for reviews! **

**Here's the link to the 8tracks list again: 8tracks /janeyjjammerton/burrowing (you'll have to add the ".com" after "8tracks". The site won't let me post the link. That's why it didn't work last time, so if you tried it and didn't work, sorry! The full link should also be listed on my profile.)  
><strong>

* * *

><p>It was Oswald's turn to be less than happy with recent events. The more successful the Burrow Boys were in disrupting Falcone's operations, the more puzzled Falcone became and the angrier. And Grady had yet to supply the plant in Falcone's operations they would frame for passing the information. If this went on much longer, the entire situation could erupt into something dangerous very quickly. But Grady seemed untroubled. She became happier the more heists the Boys pulled off despite their imminent demise at the hands of Falcone. Oswald was worried. He had trusted Grady with something very important, he realized. Had that been a mistake? She had proved several times she was capable of manipulating a situation before he realized what was happening.<p>

They sat on the cold metal seats of the grandstand at the horse track. That was his other reason for being miserable. Not only was it freezing outside, but Oswald hated horse races. Despised them. But Grady had insisted they meet at the track.

Luckily the horses, steaming in the chill air were nearly loaded in the posts. The race itself would not last long. Grady was the picture of contentment, her feet up on the seats in front of her, sipping coffee. Oswald gave her a side long look. What are you up to Grady?...

She caught his glance. "What's eating you, anyway?"

"Nothing," he glared back at the horses. "It's just very cold out for all of this."

"Think how the horses feel. Here, have this," Grady handed him her coffee.

Oswald nearly spit in surprise when the bite of whiskey met his tongue.

"For god's sake Grady," he choked and handed it back.

"Well it's kept my cheeks rosy, hasn't it," she took another sip.

"What are we doing here anyway?" he demanded.

"Making money," she said, bouncing her legs to keep warm.

"Care to elaborate?"

"Races are a great way to pick up some cash. The races are fixed constantly, but once in awhile an opportunity comes along to sneak in on one. A Burrow boy paid me for some gear with the information on this one. The bet's just low enough to make some money, but just high enough to make it look like chance and not piss off whoever was meant to collect. Plus I just like to watch the horses. You've never tried getting in on any of this?"

"No," he said, face still stormy.

"Don't like the races then?" She tilted her head. Damn perceptive little thing. He didn't answer. "Come on," she nudged him with her knee. "I've told you a hundred things about me I didn't want to talk about."

"My father wasted ridiculous sums of money betting on horses. Unlike you, his bets were rarely well placed." He watched the last of the tall, long legged horses pick their way into the stall, the gate swinging shut behind.

"Your Dad's not around anymore..." Grady said, an unasked question on her face.

"Dead, thank goodness for mother and I. Although that's not how she see's it. You'll hear nothing but his praises from her." The post time announcements ringing loud through the mostly empty seating spared him further comment. Grady however, scooted right next to him to be heard over the noise.

"Mixed up in stuff like my Da was?" she asked.

Oswald shook his head. "He was ill."

"Dads can be real bastards," Grady declared. "At least you're in good company, eh?" She gave him a pat on the arm. The gates swung open and with a great thundering, the horses were off. They passed them faster than blinking leaving behind a bit of dust and the animal smell of sweat and manure.

"So this one, they've misled everyone into betting on Lady's Secret. That's the bay on the inside corner. But First Pilot coming up on the outside of the lead will be the winner. Or else that jockey on the chestnut will be very sorry..." Grady pointed. "This isn't nearly as fun when you know the outcome though..."

Oswald grunted. Already they were on the final stretch, at least it would be over soon. He hated the noise of the pattering hooves and the irritating commentary, sounds he couldn't forget if he tried.

"Well done First Pilot," Grady toasted the horse with her coffee while the commentator shouted about the upset although chances were, he was as aware of the fix as Grady. "I almost bet on one at the harness track just for fun, but I don't actually like leaving things to chance. You alright? You didn't have to come, I could have caught up with you later."

"I wanted to ask you about our inside man from the Burrow," he said, snapping out of his thoughts.

"That'll be sorted before too long," Grady said, apparently unconcerned.

"It has to be soon Grady. Falcone is going to move on this any day now. I don't think I've ever seen him so rattled. We could be in for a lot of trouble," he said, with a warning stare.

"Come round on Tuesday then," she said. "I'll have your man ready. Also I'll need to borrow that umbrella again."

He passed it to her without argument as the blade addition had already gotten him out of three scrapes. She took it and stood to go collect her winnings. "What are you doing with it now?" he asked.

"I'd rather it was a surprise. You'll like it as much as the last one though." She reached down and tousled his hair which was somehow very Grady-ish although she'd never done anything like it before. He was very unsettled. Was she taking the Falcone problem as serious as she needed too? Why was she so cheerful and flippant?

He stood up too, dark hair now sticking up even more than it usually was. The smirk and the flashing eyes. He hadn't liked it when the spark had gone out, she had left him feeling both overwhelmed and alone. But Grady with the spark returned, was clearly more dangerous. "You're smiling like you have this under control," he said. "But can I trust you, Grady?"

"Oh, you know better than that," she laughed. "Never," she bounced down the steps leaving him very annoyed.

* * *

><p>"I'm happy for any job Grady, really I am!"<p>

Oswald stood on the other side of the curtain, listening in on the shop where Grady was talking with their plant.

"It's not terribly exciting Jimmy. You'll be moving things for Mr. Falcone is all, when deliveries come in. But work hard, the right people notice, you might move on up. Think of it as entry level."

Oswald did not need to see the boy to know he was a bumbling idiot. You could hear the smile in his voice which was deep and suggested big and dumb.  
>"Well thanks again, Grady. I was in a tight spot what with Mr. Hannigan throwing me out and all. You're a real ace for landing me this."<p>

Someone Pat Hannigan wouldn't miss. Well chosen on Grady's part. Oswald supposed he shouldn't have doubted her.

"Don't go thanking me yet," came Grady's voice and was that the sound of guilt he detected? Don't say another word Grady... "Wait until you start the job before you thank me. It'll be a lot of sweat, lifting, and elbow grease stuff."

"I don't mind, Grady. Truly." You could hear the fool beaming as he spoke.

"So you'll go find Dave Mackey at the warehouse tomorrow and he'll get you started? Clear on that?"

"Crystal. I won't be late. Thanks again Grade, maybe I can get you a drink or something sometime?" Oswald had to swallow laughter over how hopeful he sounded. Pathetic.

"Can't say no to that. Now good luck, Jimmy." She had let the boy down more gently than he expected but he could hear her rushing him out the door. After the thud and clatter of the door shutting, Oswald emerged from behind the curtain, chuckling.

"Oh come on," Grady groaned. "It isn't funny. It was far too easy. The poor oaf is as thick as a post. He'll be dead by Thursday, blabbing on to all creation about about how he was in with Hannigan, I'm sure."

"That's why it's so funny," Oswald snorted.

Grady gave him a swat on the arm. "Aye well, you've got no soul."

"Neither do you," Oswald laughed. "Leading the poor boy on like that."

"I did no such thing," Grady protested.

"I didn't even need to see him to know how taken he was with you," Oswald continued although Grady now hit him with a newspaper. "Smiley little Grady leading him to his doom, never knowing how dangerous she could be."

"Dangerous is right," she delivered a final thump with the newspaper. "I need fresh air."

* * *

><p>They didn't stray far from the shop as it was still very cold. An ice storm from the previous night made the Burrow, usually a cramped, dull, dirty place sparkle in the sunlight. They wandered a narrow brick street still strung with lights although Christmas had passed.<p>

"What did you do on Christmas?" Oswald asked.

"Hung around the pub with the only family I've got left and all the other layabouts," she shrugged. "Had a nasty eggnog concoction and we all played carols. Crazy Sweeney never leaves that pub and can't string a sentence together but you'll never hear a more brilliant fiddle player."

"I would have stopped down, but mother wouldn't have liked it." He had caught himself wondering that night if Grady even knew it was Christmas. He'd imagined she'd worked straight through it, losing track of time like she usually did.

"Ma still doesn't like me, huh?"

"I try not to mention you to spare myself the headache, but she does notice my long absences," Oswald said. "It's nothing personal. She can't bear the thought of me leaving. She needs me."

Grady made no comment. Oswald glanced at her but her face was neutral of expression. "I know some people find it strange that I still live with my mother, but she has no one else," he explained, his ears warm.

"Oh, I didn't find it anything," Grady said. "I don't know what mother's are supposed to act like. I've never had one."

"You have one somewhere," he raised an eyebrow.

"Well, no I didn't come from nowhere," she laughed. "But I was very young when she took off to who knows where. Can't say as I blame her."

"You don't remember her?"

Grady squinted. "Just a bit. I remember it raining and wearing yellow boots. A lady bounced me up and down in a puddle and spun me around. I remember red hair. And cigarettes. She must have smoked because I remember the smell. That's all though. Don't know her name, Da wouldn't speak of her. I asked once and he gave me swat on the mouth and wouldn't let me bring it up again. Anyway..."

She reached up to touch a scratch on Oswald's cheek, her fingers surprisingly warm in the cold air. "Where'd that come from?"

"Fish," he frowned.

"Why can't you leave her well enough alone?" Grady sighed.

"I just can't," he said. "She mocks me."

"Mocks you how?"

"By simply existing," he growled. "She refuses to take me seriously. But that won't last long."

"Oy! Grady!" shouted a voice behind them. Oswald whirled around but Grady stayed put.

"Bollocks," she mumbled before turning around. "Alright?" she called to him.

A big man with a grey scally cap bore down on them from the end of the alley.

"I want to know how you got a cut in that horse race," he demanded.

"Easy Ronnie. You know I can't tell you that. You know how I work," she said, raising her hands in an innocent gesture.

"I do know how you work and I don't care. I want to know who sold me out," Ronnie shouted.

"And what makes you think I'll tell you that," Grady said, now much less friendly than she was a moment ago.

"Because I'm a lot bigger than you and from the looks of it, that friend of yours too." He had almost caught up with them now.

"Just tell him Grady. What does it matter to you?" Oswald mumbled.

"Because people don't get what they want when they don't ask nicely," Grady said loudly enough for Ronnie to hear. "Especially stupid bloody idiots like him."

"Alright bitch, you're going to hand over what you cheated me out of in that bet," Ronnie roared.

"There's no call for rudeness," Oswald said, trying to hide the edge of panic in his voice.

"Take out the umbrella," Grady muttered. And Oswald raised it as she said, just now realizing she hadn't shown him what she had done to modify it. Ronnie was jogging now and nearly upon them.

"Twist the handle," she instructed.

A burst of pale smoke and sparks erupted from the end of the umbrella. Grady yanked his arm and they ran down the alley, leaving a murk of smoke and a cursing Ronnie behind them. Oswald couldn't move very fast with his limp but Grady tugged him through a strange alcove, led him through the back door of a pub, and they emerged on a street not far from the clock shop.

"Neat, eh?" she tapped the umbrella.

"Yes, very good," Oswald panted. "But Grady, he'll just come looking for you at the shop."

"He wouldn't dare come in the shop. They all know better than that," she said. But she didn't meet his eyes. There was something she wasn't telling him.


	9. Pride Can Kill

**Thank you Persephoniii and FuschiaGrasshopper for reviews! **

**Sorry I updated a bit later than usual on this one. But the chapter turned out to be a little longer than the others... I've got some things coming up like holidays so I may not get to post as often for the next few weeks. I will post at least once a week though. But if I do get time for more, then I will post as usual. That was super unspecific, I'm going to stop talking now. But I should also say, if you want to leave me some feedback, I'd be happy to hear it.  
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><p>Grady's grandfather had often warned her that "pride goeth before the fall." Pride had kept Grady continuing business as usual even though she knew Hannigan's boys were following her. "Let them follow" she thought. "They'll see I'm not up to anything." She was so convinced she'd cleanly covered her tracks. "They won't dare come after me in my shop" she had told Oswald. And she was not wrong. They had jumped her in a back alley a few blocks from her shop late one night.<p>

Pride led her to stare through the bars of a makeshift cell at the hated face of Pat Hannigan, blood trickling into her left eye. Pat had a wide, soft grandfatherly face except for the mass of scar tangled on the left side of his chin. His voice was quiet and pleasant in a way that was not all expected for a crime boss. He used his charms at every opportunity but they did not stop Grady from hating him because he reminded her very much of her father who was an old friend of his.

"So Ailis..." he said, peering through the bars at her with a faint smile.

"You could just say Grady," she grunted. She had never been fond of her name which only long dead family members had used. It touched a nerve to hear it from his mouth.

"Aye, but me knowing you since you was wee, just about this high...that's why it grieves me that my boys had to rough you up. But you gave them quite a fight, what could we do..." Hannigan shook his head as though truly saddened.

"I would love to know what I'm doing here in the first place," she mumbled, holding her sleeve to the blood still flowing from the cut above her swollen eye.

"We're here because I do know you Ailis. I know you to be a clever girl. Now my boys have run into some lucky lately. And the thing of it is, luck and Carmine Falcone don't often mix if you know what I'm saying. All these tips from nobodies, bums, and shop keepers, and janitors and the like, putting my boys in the right place at the right time. I'm pleased and all but it seems a bit too convenient, doesn't it? Makes me afraid there's something...untoward going on. Would you agree?"

"I see what you're saying," Grady said carefully. "But a friend of mine told me once, one shouldn't question good luck."

Hannigan stepped closer to the bars. "Ailis, you and me both know that wouldn't be at all wise. There's luck and there's a set up."

He bore down on her, hands wrapped around the bars, staring down into her grey eyes with his murky brown ones. "Now, why you would bait Falcone with Burrow Boys is beyond me...it would be the height of treachery what with happened to your dear departed father. 'No," I said to meself. 'That can't be right.' But I'm looking. And I'm seeing these things...they may look like a good thing but something about the way these operations have run was awful familiar. Reminded me of a young girl I've known a long time."

Grady gave a great shrug. "What do you want me to tell you? I deal in machines. It's nothing to do with me."

Hannigan heaved a sorrowful sigh. "And if not you Ailis...then who? That's the question I just can't seem to answer. I hate to do this to Tim's own daughter but I'm afraid if you don't give me the name of whoever's been scheming and using the Burrow Boys...then oh, Miss O'Grady we will have a problem."

Grady cast around quickly for someone to blame, but there was no one apparent. Given a few days, a few hours even, she could set someone up easily... But right now her head was pounding from being thumped against a wall and struck with the butt of a gun. "I have no idea who's doing it Pat. The Burrow's not been on my radar. I can find out in a day though. You said yourself, I'm clever. You know I can do it."

"It's not a question of can, dear. It's a question of what else you might do if I turn you loose. I'm giving you one last chance to give me a name. And if it was you, well...perhaps we can come to some sort of understanding. You know everything that happens in the Burrow and most of what happens in Gotham at large, I'd wager. You know what's happening here and if you don't want to tell me, you leave me to assume the worst. For which you'll be quite sorry. I'll ask once more. Who's been tipping off the Burrow Boys?"

Her ears were ringing and the part of her brain that skipped five steps ahead of whoever she was talking to didn't seem to be working. Grady knew she must have hit her head very hard. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been in such a fix. She felt like...she could faint. Yes. Perfect. She had lost a small ocean of blood from above her eye and she felt a lump the size of an egg on the back of her head. Just exaggerate. That was all that was needed. She was Irish, she exaggerated stories almost professionally.

Grady grabbed the bars to steady herself. Blinking her eyes furiously, teetering from side to side. It didn't take much acting, she did feel awful.

"Alright," she gasped. "I just - I'll tell you but...I'll be in trouble for it, ach!" She clutched at her head, leaning backward now. "The guy doing it he's...and we..." she let the rest dissolve into a mumble.

"What?" Hannigan barked, soft voice cracking. "Dammit Grady, speak up. No, no, no, no..."

She collapsed into a heap on the floor, knocking the egg on the back of her head on the way down. For a moment she thought she'd really lose consciousness and then all would be lost. There was a sickening tipping sensation as though she would fall through the floor, but then it steadied as she listened to Hannigan's cursing. He dashed out, probably looking for someone able to bring her around.

She wouldn't have long. Grady sprang to her feet, which made her head throb as though a stake was jammed through it. Hannigan's office blurred and tilted, the bars of the cell adding to the illusion. It was a good thing her cage was a makeshift contraption with a crude lock. And Grady could pick locks in her sleep. She fished through her pockets for a long, thin piece of wire and set to work. Her hands weren't steady so it took longer than she would have liked. There were voices nearby, maybe upstairs. Hannigan's headquarters were an old converted tavern that creaked and echoed as old buildings do. She closed her eyes and let the lock's mechanisms speak to her. Feeling it out with the wire, listening to the soft clicks. There was the catch. She had either unlocked it or broken it, but either way, her door swung open.

The room she was in was wide and lined with small windows, it was once the dining room of the tavern. The left hand windows glowed with streetlights. The right were darkened and must lead to the alley. She could only hope it was deserted. She heaved open the window, hands still trembling. The bitter wind bit at her cheeks. A peek outside showed only shadowed old dumpsters. No sign of Hannigan's men. She slid through the window and landed outside with a lot less grace and more noise than she would have liked, but the ground rocked beneath her and the night blurred with each throb of her head.

Grady couldn't go home. Despite the arsenal she hid in her shop, she couldn't take on all of them alone. At the moment, she could barely walk a straight line. Her jacket was frisked before Hannigan locked her up, but it was lined with so many hidden pockets, it would have been impossible for him to find everything. She had happened to stick her phone in one such pocket. Which was odd because she had never put it there before. Lucky. Don't question luck.

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><p>His mother wouldn't like it at all, but Oswald had nowhere else to bring Grady.<p>

"I didn't know what else to do," she said when he found her bleeding a few blocks from the Burrow limits. It was a sign of how badly she'd been injured. Grady always had at least five options in mind.

"Who did this?" he demanded.

"Hannigan. Who else?" she said bitterly. "Sorry, I didn't know where else to go."

His mood was black as the night when he led Grady through the door. Perhaps sensing this, his mother didn't object as heartily as he expected.

"The strange woman with the metal boxes," she squawked when Grady entered. "I knew she was no good! I knew she would drag you into trouble!"

"This is more my fault mother," he steered Grady toward the dim living room full of stiff antique furniture. "If you could give us a moment."

"Why would you bring her here?" his mother protested. "She has no business here! Dragging you out until all hours these days! Your poor mother!"

"Look at her Mom," Oswald argued. Grady, quiet for once, swayed dangerously in her seat. "What do you expect me to do? Leave her in the street?"

"Not a bad idea. The state of her...she is already a street urchin," Mrs. Cobblepot sniffed as though Grady were a mangy stray.

Grady almost laughed but it made her ribs sore.

"Mom please," Oswald said again, using the childish tone that usually got him what he wanted. "Grady has helped me many times in the past. We must do something for her now or she may not be so kind in the future."

His mother rolled her eyes, muttering in her native language but disappeared from the living room.

"She's not wrong," Grady said quietly. "I must look a sight."

"You're lovely as always," Oswald laughed. With a gentleness neither of them knew he possessed, he dabbed at her eyebrow with a handkerchief. But his humor quickly stormed over into anger again.

"He's finished," he told her. "I'm going straight to Falcone. We'll have his head."

"In that case..." Grady reached into her jacket and fished out a flash drive. "Some incriminating evidence Falcone will be interested to hear. Tell him you got it from...I don't know. I don't what to tell him..."

"I'll think of something," he stuck the drive into his pocket. "But you agree Hannigan must die?"

"Hang on," she mumbled. She closed her eyes, deep in thought and Oswald waited for her to work her way through it. "Yes, why not," she said at last. "He has to die sometime. Might as well be now."

"You don't hesitate for some ridiculous honorable reason, do you? Some Burrow code?" He raised an eyebrow.

"He has no honor," Grady said. "I was just making sure the stars are right, the planets aligned and all that..." She winced rubbing at the back of her head.

"You may be able to convince mother to give you some ice for that, but I make no promises." He pointed to a door to the right. "My room. You should rest. Not to mention you'll be safe from mother's pestering there."

"Thanks," Grady said and wiped at her split lip. "I intend to repay you. And repay you well."

He looked at her battered face from the cut brow to the purpled eye to the split lip. His blood was humming with anger like it was coursing with acid. Somewhere along the line, he wasn't sure when, maybe it even began at that very moment, but somehow an attack on Grady had come to feel personal.

"And I intend to repay Hannigan," he said. "He dies tonight."

He found his mother hovering at the kitchen door, eavesdropping he was sure. Her big eyes flashed at him with both fear and annoyance. "Where are you going at this hour?" she asked.

"I have to take care of something for Grady. You have nothing to fear, I'll be back in a few hours." He pecked his mother on the cheek and added. "Try to be kind to her. It's just for tonight."

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><p>Grady was so exhausted she couldn't bring herself to get up from the couch. Her head pounded like her brain was swelling and threatening to burst from her skull. However, she changed her mind about retreating to the dark quiet of the bedroom when Mrs. Cobblepot stomped over to glower over her.<p>

"What kind of trouble do you get my son into?" she barked, hands on her hips.

Loud. Far too loud. Each word like a hammer to her head. Grady pressed the heel of her palm between her eyes.

"It's me that's in trouble. He'll be fine," Grady gave her a quick glance, and found the woman was quite intimidating so she looked away again. "You should trust him. He's a smart one."

"Smart men can be blinded by women," she said, shaking a crafty finger in her face.

Grady closed her eyes and leaned her head on the arm of the sofa. It was too heavy to lift.

"Ma'am with all due respect," she said. "I'm in this state because I was trying to help him. Not the other way around. If you'll notice, he's the one still standing." Silently she begged Oswald's mother to go and leave her in peace to sleep or pass out or whatever her head was trying to do.

"What sort of young lady finds herself in your state? What you were up to, I would like to know. Something very improper I am sure. What did your mother teach you? To get yourself all bloody with the cuts and the -," she waved at the bruises, clearly forgetting the English word.

"My mother never taught me anything," Grady mumbled, half asleep. "I don't even know who she is."

It was like a switch had gone off. Mrs. Cobblepot did not become tender but with a sigh she straightened from her stooping position over Grady's beaten slouch. Muttering to herself, she went to fetch some ice from the freezer.

"You take this and you do not sleep," she instructed. "You have the..." she waved her hands again, searching for the word.

"Concussion," Grady flinched as she placed the ice on the lump, the lightest touch made it throb.

"Yes. No sleep. You stay out of my son's room. You have no business there," she narrowed her eyes at Grady.

"That's the last thing on my mind at the moment," Grady muttered.

"What was that you say?"

"Nothing," Grady said. "Thank you. For this. And for the shelter."

"Girls with no mothers," Mrs. Cobblepot threw up her hands. "They go out brawling on the streets. It is too dangerous for my son even."

She disappeared into another room.

For a time, Grady used the cold ice to shock herself from sleep. She spent awhile in a murk of lucid dreams and old memories, but as the ice took down the swelling, she became more alert. She sat up after a time, heard the sound of Mrs. Cobblepot's snores from somewhere in the house, which was at least a small relief.

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><p>Very early in the morning, Oswald returned. After shedding blood, sounds seemed magnified, the shadows were lighter. It was a peculiar and amazing state, but one he knew it was dangerous to throw himself into too often. For he had a very thin grasp on reason and control. Falcone was pleased for the information he supplied him. A series of audio tracks carefully altered by Grady to make it appear as though Hannigan had planned each strike against him. While the Burrow Boys had spirit, they were never a match for Falcone's power and he had Hannigan in his grasp within hours. Hannigan who bleated in a dead man's panic about Grady setting him up.<p>

"Do you know anything about this?" Falcone had asked Oswald.

"Grady...Grady the mechanic? I have no idea. I'm afraid my grudge against Mr. Hannigan dates back to my time even before Fish Mooney." The lie fell as smooth as silk.

"I don't know who you are boy!" Hannigan raged.

"Of course you wouldn't," Oswald said. And he fed a quick story to Falcone about being mugged by Burrow Boys years ago. And Falcone, grateful to be rid of another Burrow nuisance, irritating, but about as threatening as mosquito, had allowed Oswald to do the honors and left him to it.

"He's dead." Oswald tossed this at Grady in an offhand manner on his way to check on his mother who he found sleeping over her knitting.

"Why are you still out here?" he took a seat beside Grady. "I said you could rest."

"Your mum forbid me," she said with a light laugh. "Besides, can't sleep. I've a concussion."

"I'm sorry if she was...less than hospitable," he eyed the damage to Grady's face, less swollen, but still bright with color. He felt a blaze of satisfaction at having spilled the blood of the man who did it.

"I think she sort of likes me now," Grady said. "Maybe. A bit. Well not really...so, no problems then?"

"None. Falcone was less interested in how I found out it was Hannigan interrupting his operations than the fact that I did catch him at it."

"Falcone doesn't see us as humans...not anywhere near his level. We're like fleas to him," she glowered at her hands as Oswald tried to dissect her. She had lumped herself in with the Burrow which she only seemed to do when someone offended the Burrow in some way. As if sensing him analyzing her, she gave him a reproachful look. "He does the same to you. Doesn't suspect you of telling him anything less than the truth, just buys your old underdog grudge story."

"And it worked in my favor," Oswald added.

"True..." The sun was rising, filling the room with an eerie red light reminiscent of Hannigan's blood, how it had spilled on his crisp white shirt. "Did you get to do it?" Grady asked, her eyes glinting like they did on the night she killed Rice. "Did you kill Hannigan yourself?"

"I did," his heart quickened with the memory.

"And did you enjoy it?" she asked as he had once asked her. She smirked, eyes glittering in the red light. There was that small, but characteristic gap in her teeth. It was as if the entire evening's ordeal was rushing down on him like a wave.

Oswald found his hand under her chin and Grady had a question in her eyes. He felt in that moment that he had to claim this exact smirk, the gap in her teeth and the only way was to press it into his memory. So he found himself kissing Grady, not for long but not at all shyly. And maybe it was fitting that there was the taste of old blood from her split lip.

Having stolen some of her breath, and free from the madness, he released her.

"Well that's nice, isn't it. You and your Ma have both gone mad," Grady looked quite stunned. "I should get myself nearly killed more often."

Grady didn't look unhappy, but Oswald was disturbed. He had surprised himself which was not something that happened often. "Don't make a habit of it then," he rose to go open the heavy curtains. "It's no help to us for me to behave unpredictably."

Grady was equally puzzled and said nothing to this. She stayed on the sofa while Oswald stared out the window watching the sun rise over Gotham.


	10. Grady Juggles Chainsaws

**Thank you for reviews FuchsiaGrasshopper, Marlena Deux, MugglebornPrincesa, and Persephoniii :) **

**I'm getting a little silly with the chapter titles. Sorry...sort of...  
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><p>Sometimes he thought kissing Grady was a mistake. Sometimes he thought it wasn't. As it turned out, it wasn't a passing fancy. Desire wasn't new to him and it could be satisfied or ignored relatively easily. Affection however, was dangerous. Especially in a partnership. Especially towards Grady who could not be trusted, despite her loyalty so far. As far as which he was feeling, it seemed to vary from moment to moment. When Grady called Oswald to the shop the morning after she had returned from his own home, his resolve was put to the test.<p>

Her eye was still very purple but she appeared to be in much better spirits. "I've got to tell you something sensational," Grady said and kicked a pile of papers off the sofa. "Here, sit."

"You're looking much more your old self. Possibly more so," Oswald said as she practically bounced in her seat.

"Oh aye. Well, that was just it. I wanted to tell you straight off, but I needed to see where things stand. And with my head still ringing and all, it took a bit of effort..." She leaned forward, showing the full glory of her gap tooth smile. "I know it won't sound like much. But it's a step. Considering where you are now to where you will be...I'm going to give you the Burrow Boys."

Oswald laughed. She looked incredibly proud of herself. "Grady, how are you going to do that?"

Looking a little deflated, she gave him a swat on the leg. "Come on! You've seen them! I know they aren't much, but they're even more hopeless without a leader! And they've never had a leader with more than half a brain. Maybe we've haven't seen what they're capable of. They've got spirit like know one else."

"I'm not doubting you. But you haven't answered my question. What makes you think they'll follow me?"

"They've go to follow someone, believe me on that. And we carry a grudge around here."

Oswald raised an eyebrow. "Really. I hadn't noticed."

She thumped him in the chest this time. "Enough of your smarting. Listen, if you can promise steady income that rivals Falcone and the others that have done them wrong... Throw in a little revenge and you've got them. It's manpower you didn't have before. You think I let Hannigan knock me around for no reason? I planned it. They had to see me suffer. We're going to tell the Boys he set me up. That he's always had it in for me just like he had it in for my Da. We're going to tell them he set my Da up all those years ago, so he could take over. Hannigan was one of his best friends. Opening up those old wounds, they'll be howling mad. And they'll love that we fed Hannigan right back to Falcone. It's all the proof they'll need that you're fit to lead them. You're not Irish, so that's not a point in your favor but eh...we can Irish you up a bit, yeah? You'll fit in before too long." She pushed back her hair, almost nervously. "So whatcha think?"

Suddenly everything Grady had been doing in the past few weeks made sense. As always, she had been two steps ahead of the game since it started. Even willing to risk her life for it. He had the feeling Hannigan went a bit further than she had planned, but still. Could he have asked for anyone more brilliant or committed than Grady?

"And you didn't tell me any of this," he wondered aloud. "Grady, why didn't you just claim the Burrow Boys for yourself?"

"I don't want them," she shrugged. "I've always preferred to work behind the scenes. I mean I'll help you and all, we're going to have use my status. But no, I don't want them. Hopefully, I've proved to you why you need me in this arrangement. Well, this is part of why I need you. I don't want to lead. Not directly anyway."

She looked down at her hands, fiddling with a half constructed watch. He raised her chin with a finger.

"I think you'd be good at it."

"Please," she said, flashing the gap tooth. "Imagine for a minute, I'd be a joke."

"You don't exactly have Fish Mooney's authority," he agreed.

Reluctantly, he made himself take his hand from her face. "How long were you planning this?" he asked.

"When you did me over asking me to set up the Boys," she rolled her eyes. "I know I was stubborn, but it got me to thinking...planning. I mean, it's pretty sick of me making things up about my dead Da to get us ahead but...I figure if he were smart enough, he would have done the same. Didn't tell you about it because I didn't want to make a promise I couldn't keep. Had no idea if it would work until it did."

"It was brilliant Grady. Truly inspired," Oswald said.

She waved her hand in an "aw shucks" gesture and went back to her watch. He was very afraid it was affection that he was feeling as he watched her nimble fingers work.

"I must ask that you tell me about anything else you might be planning. Even if it's something you aren't sure will work. And most especially if it involves you getting assaulted on purpose."

"Nah, nothing else. I'm glad we can plan it together now so I've got your two sense as well. Terrifying doing what we do sometimes, isn't it? Like juggling chainsaws, I imagine. I was afraid I would drop one and then argh! My arm!" She pulled a hand in her sleeve and flapped it around comically.

He felt a powerful urge to kiss her again, but refrained. He was late for a meeting with Maroni.

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><p>When he returned to the clock shop that night, he almost used his umbrella on what he thought was an intruder.<p>

"Don't say anything! I had to go incognito," Grady shouted.

It was Grady, but very much in disguise. She wore a green dress suited to her small frame and most notable was her wild hair. It had been tamed somehow. Sleeked and shining and drawn up on the top of her head. Makeup almost made her features look delicate. The only thing to indicate it was still Grady was the gap tooth.

"Where were you?" Oswald asked, he couldn't help but admire the effect.

"Wayne Foundation benefit. Prime source of intel. And I know you don't think it's important, but I still need to know more about those Wayne murders." She irritably wrenched a shoe off her foot and flung it across the room where it knocked over a pile of spare parts. "Stupid things hurt my feet," she rubbed at her arch. "Should have sent you. You clean up well, but you would have thought it was a waste of time."

"I would say you did a fine job of it yourself." Oswald moved closer, his smile teasing while Grady wrenched off her other shoe.

"Well, I have that lady that owns the laundromat down the street do all this," She gestured wildly at her face. "I'd be hopeless on my own." He wasn't sure whether it was the makeup that made her cheeks so pink or embarrassment. "Not that it wasn't pretty much a waste of time anyway. I didn't find out much useful at all. But I did manage to plant a few bugs." She seemed flustered. Grady started picking the pins out of her hair and it tumbled out in bouncy strands. Proper curls. Her hair normally looked like it wasn't sure if it wanted to be straight or wavy.

"And who do you tell people you are at these things?" His eyes fixed on the process of unpinning her hair.

"I try not to have to tell people anything. I'm incognito remember," she yanked out another pin with a yelp. A scent of shampoo and something else flowery wafted out. Oswald thought that perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to indulge. Every so often. He took a strand of her hair, ran it between his fingers.

"Ailis is a pretty name," he said.

"Never did suit me," she bit her lip.

"It suits you now," he said quietly. He put his hand on her hip, the fabric of her dress was warm and smooth. Grady put a hand on his chest.

"Oh no, no, no," she said. "You're not getting all flirtatious just because I'm done up like this."

But she didn't back away either. He dropped his forehead against hers, touching his thumb to her lip. "I'm not meant to find you pretty like this?"

"I don't. Barely recognized myself in the mirror." She turned her head away. "I know what you're up to." She smiled now, eyes glittering. She stroked back his hair. "But I think you'd be quite rough with me," she smirked. "And I'm still all bruised up from that Hannigan business."

"I think I could be careful..." Gently his lips brushed the bruised cheekbone that the makeup concealed, as if to prove this. When he moved to her neck, much less gently, she softened. Almost as if she were melting. But then she pulled away again.

"Alright, alright," she murmured. "We've got work to do."

"I'm not very interested in working at this moment," Oswald said.

Grady wandered into the bathroom to wash her face. "Then what are you here for?"

He leaned on the door frame, making one last attempt. "I'm here for you, of course," he grinned.

"Aye well, sorry to disappoint," Grady scrubbed at her face with a towel. "You know, I met that young Wayne orphan tonight. He was interesting. Very interesting. Bright for a child his age."

"Hmm," Oswald sighed, resigned.

"I think we ought to watch him. He's very intuitive. Seeing as he's a kid, I thought it would be safe talking to him for a bit. But I think he sensed there was something off about me."

She emerged from the bathroom free of eye makeup and blush, but perhaps more appealing than she had been when she had it on. Oswald watched her moodily, hands in his pockets.

"You're not taking me seriously, are you," she accused.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not overly concerned about a child, Grady. Forgive me for not trembling with fear."

"I'll be saying I told you so," she jabbed him in the chest with a finger. "Someday Bruce Wayne will be a real threat."

And it was a great misfortune that Oswald ignored her. But she was pushing his buttons and he was very annoyed and remained that way for the rest of the evening.


	11. Burrow Born

**And in a crazy turn of events, I had time to write this morning. If you're celebrating, Happy Christmas Eve! Thank you FuschiaGrasshopper and Persephoniii for reviews. **

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><p>Grady knew she couldn't pass Oswald off as a Burrow born boy, but she had to make some sort of effort.<p>

"Yes, definitely wear the wool jacket. Wool is very Burrow-ish," she instructed as Oswald pulled on the long grey coat. "And a proper tie."

"There's nothing wrong with my tie," Oswald said weakly, somewhat offended.

"Trust me, it's not Burrow fashion."

"I put a lot of effort into my clothing choices. You on the other hand, usually have motor oil and grease on your sweaters," he said grumpily.

"I look like a mechanic which is what I am. You, I'm trying to dress as a Burrow boy which is what you are soon to be. Get it?" she waved a finger in his face.

"Fine. Just this once," he grumbled as he changed ties.

Grady whacked some dust off a flat, short brimmed hat. "Here, they love wearing these."

Oswald waved her away. "No, thank you. I don't like hats."

"Don't like hats?" Grady grabbed Fionn's the dog's hairy face and lamented. "He doesn't like hats...he's going to drive me to drink." Fionn whined and Grady rounded on Oswald. "What's wrong with hats exactly?"

"I see no point to them. I carry an umbrella in bad weather and then of course, you can't wear them indoors."

"You can wear hats indoors in the Burrow, it's not high society," Grady snorted.

"I couldn't possibly," Oswald stammered, shocked at the idea of such bad manners.

"Anyone ever tell you that you're a strange one?" Grady sighed.

"That's all anyone seems to tell me," Oswald coughed uncomfortably.

They spent an awkward minute avoiding each other's eyes. Then Grady popped the cap on Oswald's head.

"There," she said. "We're even indoors and look, you're still standing and the world hasn't ended."

"Well no, but I feel very rude," he said.

"He looks darling, doesn't he Fionn."

Fionn wagged his tail as if he agreed.

"Grady, I wanted to apologize for last night," Oswald blurted out.

"What about last night?" she asked, puzzled.

"I feel perhaps I was very forward." He pulled the offending hat off his head, twisting it in his hands. "I'm not quite sure what came over me and I thought that maybe you'd - well I thought maybe you'd also want...even if it was just the once..."

"Oh that. No worries, it's forgotten." Grady looked at his pink ears with some surprise.

"I know I acted out of turn," he untwisted the now mangled hat. "Truly though, you looked lovely."

"Well you know..." Grady took the hat from him and placed her own hands around his instead. "It's not like I don't want to."

"I don't understand," Oswald stammered. "You mean you want to..."

"To sleep with you," Grady finished, mainly to watch his face glow again.

"Well I..." he gaped at her, not sure what to say and scratched his head instead.

"I just don't think it's a good idea," Grady said quietly. "With us working together and all."

"Well, you're right of course," Oswald said with a twitching shrug. He cleared his throat. "You really want me to wear that hat?" he added.

"You've sort of squashed it," Grady pointed out. "I'll have to get you a new one."

He didn't pretend to be disappointed.

"Are you nervous?" she asked.

"A little, yes," he said. "You can dress me up however you like, but that doesn't make me a Burrow Boy. I have the feeling this won't be easy..."

"Probably not," Grady agreed. "But we'll get there. I know how the boys work..."

"I hope you're prepared. I'm counting on using you to gain their sympathy."

"I know," she huffed. "I'm not really looking forward to this either."

"You need to look sad," Oswald said. "I hope you practiced a sympathetic 'Hannigan framed my father' expression. That's important."

Grady frowned in concentration. Then pouted her lip with a horribly overdone tremble. Oswald snorted with laughter.

"This is hopeless," Grady groaned. "Sometimes I'm very afraid I'm in the wrong line of work."

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><p>Oswald knew the Burrow Boys were rough and in a large group they were almost frightening. He wasn't exactly afraid, having dealt with his share of thugs, many more cold, clever and dangerous than this lot. But, there was an element to the Burrow Boys that was wild and unpredictable like Grady. They milled around Hannigan's old office, restless, impatient, and noisy. But this was proof of what Grady said, they were undisciplined and would crumble without someone to tell them what to do. Oswald leaned on Hannigan's desk, trying to ignore the stares. Grady was perched on top of the desk.<p>

"Hey Grady," called out a big man over the noise. "What are we doing here?"

"It's not right!" quavered an old man. "We're meant to be mournin' Hannigan."

Grady gave Oswald a nudge. He cleared his throat. "Excuse me gentlemen," he tried, but there was little effect except for a voice that crowed "and ladies!" from somewhere in the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen then," he corrected.

"Right," Grady sighed and stood up on the desk. "Hey, you bastards!" she shouted and the room immediately settled down. "That's better...I know you're angry about Hannigan," she began. "Well so am I! This goes deeper than you all know. You might think you're lost without him, but the time to act is now, not later. My ol' Da had a vision for the Burrow. Squawking around like a bunch of chickens wasn't it! I need you to listen to Mr. Cobblepot here. Because he's a smart man and he knows how you lot can make money. More money than you ever had before."

She bounced down from the desk. "Go on then," she muttered.

"Friends, my name is Oswald Cobblepot. I am also known as The Penguin," he began. "I may not be one of you, but I see your strength. And I understand your anger at Don Falcone and his treachery. Isn't it time the likes of him took you seriously? Something has been holding you back. And while I know it's disrespectful to make these accusations so soon after his death, you deserve the truth about Pat Hannigan. All of you know Grady. Many of you have known her since she was born."

He gestured at Grady and thankfully she wasn't making the clearly fake sad face, but had settled for a steely expression which could have been hurt but looked more angry. A look that came much more naturally to her.

"And sure you remember Grady's father Tim," he continued. "I've been told the Burrow doesn't forget. Grady hasn't. And Mr. Hannigan, he didn't forget either. He nearly killed Grady last week because he has been waiting for years to eliminate the last remaining O'Grady. He framed Tim O'Grady years ago and Grady has kept silent rather than revealing him, weakening you, betraying her neighborhood. Until he tried to accuse her of his own crime. Can you blame her for protecting herself? For avenging her father?"

The silence was shattered as everyone began talking and muttering all at once. Grady's eye was still a fresh purple and she had bandaged an arm for effect.

"It's a lie!" a voice shouted. "Grady's using us!"

"You may well think that," Oswald raised his own voice and this time everyone quieted. "But if that were the case, why did she bring me to you with an offer for the Burrow that Hannigan could never have given you. You have two choices my friends... you can believe Grady your loyal neighbor for years, has betrayed you and hold on to old grudges. Or you can side with Grady and her heritage and respect for your people."

The faces still looked suspicious, rebellious, but there were also many that were curious. He glanced at Grady and she gave him a slight nod. It had come across as they rehearsed. Everything banked on the outcome of his next statement. Grady's reckless plan could have been for nothing and they risked exposing themselves. But if it worked... they would progress by leaps and bounds.

"We believe the strength of the Burrow...with some patience and careful planning...can be used to overtake Don Maroni. If you're interested, stay and learn what you're capable of. If you aren't..." He gave a shrug. "Best of luck...Gotham is an unforgiving city. But there is strength in numbers."

He held his breath while they started to move. Shuffling feet and whispering to one another. Grady had her arms crossed, foot jiggling nervously. Some people left immediately out the back doors but...yes... a majority were staying where they were. Either lured by the promise of wealth or out of loyalty to the O'Gradys. It didn't matter. They had their numbers. Grady nodded and sidled up beside Oswald. "I know the faces," she said under her breath. "These are the ones we need. The others that left, they'll come around after a bit."

No sooner than she said this than the old man that had spoken up marched up to Grady and gave her a cold stare. Just inches from her face.

"I know you Grady. You're a crafty, unnatural thing. A liar. You shame the memory of your father," he growled. "I don't believe a word of your trickery and I'll be damned if I let these fools follow you blindly."

Grady's fists clenched, her eyes flashing. Unseen, Oswald gripped her elbow in warning.

"I'm sorry you feel that way sir," he said. "But no one is forcing you or any of these good people to take part."

"Just you wait," the man sneered and took one last glance at the room as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Then he departed.

"We'll take care of him later," Oswald muttered and released her elbow, but she still looked furious. The truth can hurt, but he certainly knew better than to point that out to Grady.

"Grady, who is this then?" asked a curly haired man with the type of cap Oswald had neglected to wear. He gave Oswald a glare. "He's not from the Burrow...don't even think he's Irish."

There was a chorus of agreement with this. Grady winced. "Alright..." she said. "Alright, it's true, the lad may not be Irish. But we can't blame him for that. It's not his fault he isn't Irish and he's missed out on our many positive qualities..."

This at least, got some laughs.

"But spend enough time in the Burrow and he'll learn. The point is, he can offer something no one else can. Trust me on this, Oswald knows what he's on about. Nobody else can do for us what he can. So if you'd give the man your undivided attention, he'll tell you the plan."

It went better than he could have hoped for. And while the Burrow Boys were a powerful asset, he was not yet convinced they were reliable. Or that they would follow a leader who wasn't Burrow born. But he and Grady had rolled the dice and there was no quitting the game now.


	12. Bonnie Mr Charlie

**Thank you for reviewing FuchsiaGrasshopper, Persephoniii, and MugglebornPrincesa! **

**I'm introducing a character named Charlie this chapter and I'm interested to know what you think? I was going to use him for a really short time, but now I like him...**

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><p>Before Maroni there were other matters to deal with. Like leashing the Burrow Boys. They had been promised Maroni but the Boys couldn't be trusted with such delicate matters yet. And so they would begin with small but useful victories.<p>

Grady had adopted Oswald's system of organizing information using photos, maps, newspaper clippings. She admitted that it was possibly the most organized thing she had ever done. "Like this," Oswald told her as he tacked up the materials on the living room ceiling. "I think better like this..." He should have known better than to feel embarrassed as he lay on the floor to stare up at his work. Grady flopped down next to him and said: "When I get stuck, I think best upside down."

"How does that work?"

"I sit on the couch except with my feet on the top and my head hanging over the floor."

"That's an excellent way to get a headache..." his eyes traced the photos, the notes he had taken.

Grady crossed her arms and tilted her head as though trying to simulate the upside down experience. She was very fidgety which was a distraction, tapping the tips of her toes together. Their eyes followed different paths but eventually came to rest at the same place.

"This Charlie person..." he began.

"Bonnie Mr. Charlie," Grady nodded up at the ceiling.

"He's crossed the Burrow Boys again and again...what can you tell me about him?"

"Charlie broke off from the Burrow about eight years ago. Never fit in. The boys harassed him endlessly and so he looked to get revenge. Show them who's boss. Can't blame him really...but the Boys want him dead. If there's one thing they hate more than a soft, nervous, scrawny boy, it's one that comes back to bite them. Charlie's been real rattled over the years...you could easily take him apart. He's not so different from you actually..."

Oswald glanced at her, but Grady was staring up at Charlie's picture. His eyes followed her's and he waited for her to explain. The young man in the picture was certainly much smaller than most Burrow Boys, almost sickly looking with his pale skin and dark circles under large brown eyes. He had a well trimmed swoop of dusty color hair and a thoughtful, melancholy expression.

"I don't remember why he's Bonnie Mr. Charlie. Something stupid from school...We were friends..." Grady continued.

And Oswald turned his gaze back to her, the gears in his head turning.

"I didn't think he'd turn out how he did. I knew he'd leave the Burrow but...well I didn't think he'd become obsessed with it. Such a waste... he's brilliant, but between the bullies, his drunk Mum...it broke him. And the brilliance is wasted. He gives the Boys hell from time to time with his group, but he'll never go beyond that. And he was decent. Didn't talk rough like the others. Did well in school...noticed things...One day a bunch of boys found this cat out by the rubbish bins on the playground. Scrawny orange thing with a broken leg. The boys were throwing rocks at it and Charlie, even though he knew he'd pay for it, he told them to leave off or he'd get a teacher. So they beat him instead and forgot the cat. Charlie hid the cat with the janitor and took him home in the end. I invented this little brace thing to help the cat walk better. So I don't know. A guy like that...I thought he was going places instead of a half crazed small time gang leader. I guess not growing up in Gotham."

"You couldn't help him?" Oswald asked.

"Stopped the beatings after a time. But you and I know there are many more ways to break a person than with your fists. Nah, I could only do so much. Threatened the ones with Burrow Boy fathers with the wrath of my Da, but at the time I wasn't an expert at stopping words, notes, stolen property, public humiliation. I knew machines...I knew how to defend myself in a fight. The rest I had yet to learn. Could have used you even back then," Grady finally took her eyes off the photos to look at Oswald.

"And you say he's like me?" he asked.

"A bit," Grady frowned. "He's well...always very polite. And more dangerous than he looks. And he'll surprise you sometimes. Like with the cat...I've got the feeling you weren't a picture of popularity in your youth either."

Oswald rolled his eyes back to the ceiling. "I can certainly relate to his predicament. We'll leave it there." His blue eyes flicked over the information, racing around the array of clippings. "Grady, if he's a friend...we can pick someone else..." His eyes cast around for likely candidates.

She gave a short laugh and linked and an arm through his. "You're alright," she said. "But the Boys won't value the destruction of anyone more than him. Short of a Maroni, Mooney, Falcone type which of course, isn't possible yet." She shook her head. "It's got to be him, I think..."

"So you'll sacrifice your friend?" he clarified. And would it be so easy for you? That was the silent question on his mind.

"I wouldn't call him a friend," Grady said. "Don't like many people, remember? I hardly know Charlie anymore..."

But the way Grady clung to his arm was not only pleasantly warm, it provided a clue. "This isn't as easy for you as you're telling me," Oswald said.  
>Grady sighed. "Alright. It's not so much friendship though...just feels like kicking that crippled cat from all those years before after what I watched him go through. But he's different now. Charlie has a mean bite. It's not the first difficult thing I've done and it won't be the last. It can't be helped."<p>

"You must be sure. Your feelings can cause error and complicate matters. And I don't wish to hurt you," he added.

Grady smirked at him. "I can almost believe you."

"It wounds me how you doubt my sincerity," he teased. "I was being very serious. You've done many difficult things for our cause lately and I'm not convinced yet that this is necessary."

"It is, but I'm very sorry for it," she shook her head. "I just can't help but feel badly for him. Meet him and you might feel the same."

"Let's meet him then," Oswald said.

Grady lifted an eyebrow. "I wasn't serious. I've never seen you feel bad for anyone..."

He thought this was very unfair considering that he had murdered out of sympathy for Grady, but didn't mention it. "If we're to proceed I have to know more about him anyway. Do you sell to him?"

"I have, but it's been at least two years now. You're thinking a sales call to get a sense of his situation?"

"Exactly," Oswald nodded. "Can it be arranged or will he find it strange to see you on his doorstep? I admit you're about the strangest thing that ever knocked on my door."

"He'll be twice the host that you were," she huffed.

He ignored the jab. "It's settled then?"

"Yes, why not. It has to be just us though. Absolutely no Burrow Boys, of course."

"Just as well," Oswald sat up, no longer needing the map above. "I don't think they've warmed up to me."

"Takes time," Grady stretched. "You've been wearing that hat I gave you?"

"It's just a hat Grady."

"That's a no then," Grady pushed at Fionn who was sniffing at her face. "And the Boys have been calling you the Penguin. That's alright by you?"

"It was my request," he nodded darkly.

Grady gave Fionn a dubious shrug. "Maybe I should have a proper nickname. If I was an animal what sort would I be?"

"Something irritating I'm sure," Oswald said.

"Oh well aren't we funny," she scowled. "What animals use tools?"

"Monkeys," he said.

"Alright, that's enough from you."

"I think it's quite fitting."

Grady sighed.

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><p>Oswald had to at least approve of Bonnie Mr. Charlie on the basis of taste. He was located in a less reputable corner of Gotham, south of the Burrow. But his abode was on a more respectable street in one of the large brownstones hugging a small gated park. He followed Grady who hopped up the steps with confidence. The stairs were flanked by two fearsome stone lions with large manes that resembled Grady's hair. She scratched one on the head as she passed as if it were a real pet. Maybe that was Grady's animal. A lion.<p>

"Wave to the camera," Grady indicated the base of a small flag pole bearing the Irish flag beside the door. "I installed it a few years ago..." She waggled her fingers at it and Oswald gave it the barest nod, feeling silly.

With gangs of this size, that is to say small, ineffective, with a tenuous grasp of their power, Oswald had come to expect to be greeted by very large thugs when he came to call. Instead, he was surprised to find a a well spoken elderly gentleman dressed like a valet at the door.

"May I help you?" the man asked.

"You can," Grady produced one of her business cards. "If Mr. Charlie Moran is in, he'll know me by Grady. And this is my associate, Mr. Cobblepot."

The valet took the card and gave it a slow, dignified look. "Very well," he said. "Please, come inside."

They waited in the foyer. Oswald jumped when they went inside as he found several taxidermy animals snarling down at him. He hoped Grady hadn't noticed, but her eyes danced with laughter.

"I told you," she whispered. "He's a bit mad."

The valet returned and beckoned them up stairs. "May I present you to Mr. Moran?"

This was where Bonnie Mr. Charlie had hidden the big men. A pair of them roamed the hallways, eyes straight ahead, arms swaying. Oswald watched out the corner of his eye. They went up the landing to the third floor while the valet led them on.

The valet stopped them at two oak paneled doors. "Miss O'Grady and Mr. Cobblepot sir," he announced.

"Brilliant. Show them in." The voice was pleasant and enthusiastic. Unlike Grady, he did not have an Irish accent but there was a trace of a lilt.

Grady led the way inside. "Hello, Charlie," she smiled.

"Grady," his smile was twice the size of her's. Charlie was in his shirt sleeves wearing a khaki vest, but he swept his jacket on as he rose. He looked much as he did in the photos, still small, still with somewhat grey beneath the eyes. His smile did not meet those eyes. They were cold, glittering, nervous. But they became more genuine perhaps when they rested on Grady.

"You look well as ever my old friend," he said as he captured her hand. She gave it a shake but he swept it up to brush a kiss against her knuckles.

"Surely there's no need to be formal as that," Grady said and she looked a little flustered. Oswald tried not to stare at her and instead turned his attention to the man who shook her hand. "But you're a lady in my eyes Grady, whether you wish it or not." He took Oswald's hand next. "Mr. Cobblepot, I don't believe I've had the pleasure."

"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you," Oswald replied. If Charlie was being truthful, he was certainly not a major player. Oswald did not mean to flatter himself, but his "death" and re appearance were a well known story in the underworld at this point.

"Please," Charlie gestured to the wingback chairs in front of his desk. "I take it you're here for business rather than pleasure?"

"Why can't it be both?" Grady winked and dropped one of her infamous red toolboxes on her desk.

"I'd love to see what you've been working on but I wasn't prepared to make any major purchases," Charlie admitted.

"Well, you don't have to pay in money," Grady gave him a side long look. "That's not changed."

"It's been awhile Grady, but I know you well enough not to trust you with my secrets," Charlie smiled and his eyes glittered in a way Oswald couldn't decipher.

"Well maybe I can tempt you. How about a demo? This one isn't for sale. Oswald, perhaps you can show the man your umbrella?" Grady said.

"Certainly," Oswald raised his umbrella and flicked the blade. He watched a guard behind Charlie shift his feet and Oswald hid the blade again. "The other alteration is a bit too risky...I would hate to damage any of the fine things in this room."

Charlie chuckled. "How perfectly Grady. That's quite nice. And may I ask what the other feature is?"

"Diversionary tactics we'll say," Grady answered for him. "We must let Oswald keep some of his arsenal a secret, yes?"

"I suppose so," Charlie tore his attention from Grady. "Mr. Cobblepot, you are far too well mannered to hail from the Burrow. How did you meet Grady?"

Oswald gave Grady the briefest glance but she seemed at ease. "I'm not from the Burrow, no. Grady came to me. She felt I had certain useful talents."

"You're a mechanic then?"

"Of a sort," Oswald said.

"I see..." Charlie looked curiously between the two of them.

"Smart lad and as you can tell, much better spoken than I am. It's good for business," Grady explained. "Charlie, I understand you're a might good shot these days. Perhaps you'll be interested in some of my pistols." She flipped open the box.

"I'm much more interested in you," Charlie said. "Can I convince you to leave the Burrow? I just acquired an old garage that would suit you and your work well. I've missed you. I hate to think of you surrounded by those idiots and working in that tomb of yours."

"I appreciate it, truly," Grady said, as sincere as Oswald had ever seen her. "But you know I can't do that. You on the other hand...I could give you much more help than some gadgets. I could double your money, widen your reach. But I can't give you the Burrow."

Oswald gripped his umbrella when he saw a twitch in Charlie's eye. Just beneath the polite exterior he could see a monster hiding.

"The Burrow destroyed your family Grady. Yet you insist on defending them," he said in a voice so soft it was frightening. Grady's expression became guarded but her posture remained relaxed.

"The Burrow didn't do it, mate. That was my Da's own fault."

"Your father may have been a very different man if he wasn't involved with Burrow idiot politics," Charlie pointed out.

Oswald tried to catch Grady's eye to warn her to keep a level head. "That's rich coming you from you, friend. You continue to fight them when I offer great incentive to walk away."

"You side with bullies Grady, as you always have. I will not work with you as long as you continue to live in that neighborhood and aid those thugs. In fact, I have to question why you're here today," he sat up in his chair, big eyes wide. Oswald found him interesting but as blinded by paranoia and old memories as Grady had said he was. A reasonable man that wished to rise would put aside old grudges at least long enough to hear what Grady had to offer.

"There are no sides but my side, Charlie. Otherwise why would I still sell to you. I have to look out for my interests, same as you do yours. And it is a shame those interests don't line up. But maybe we can work out some other business? I did just make this last week. Pistol concealed in a glove, but it only works at very close range. Have a look..."

"This bit has to be pressed against the target?" Charlie examined.

"Yes exactly."

"Clandestine for certain. I imagine this wouldn't make much noise?"

"Very little," Grady agreed.

Charlie seemed to have a grasp of mechanics that Oswald did not possess as they worked through several other devices. The longer he sat with little to contribute, the more out of place he would seem but Grady seemed to have Charlie's full attention. There were more useful things he could be doing. He interrupted to ask for a restroom and was pleased when Charlie directed him and didn't send a guard.

The hallway was silent. Almost too quiet. There were faint footsteps upstairs and car horns outside. He paused at a potted fern and pressed one of Grady's tiny mics into the soil. Then his instincts led him upstairs. He walked as quietly as he could with his limping leg. He heard voices around the corner of the hallway and a shadowy room that housed some chairs and a pool table beckoned him into hiding. He slunk in and crossed the parlor to the closed door on the other side. With his ear pressed to the door he tried to make sense of the voices but heard nothing of interest in the words he could hear. He nudged the door open, just a bit. With eye to the bright slice of light in the hall, he could see two large doors with guards posted on either side. Another guard passed in front of them. He heard his footsteps turn at the end of hall and return. He was walking a circuit. Very curious. Oswald backed away from the door when a large mirror by the pool table caught his eye.

He performed a quick test as he often did out of habit. When he pressed his fingernail to the glass, it met and touched his reflection perfectly. No gap between images. A two way mirror. Curiouser still. It would be a bad idea to linger here. As much as he would have liked to know who or what was in the room on the other side, it was a risk he couldn't take.

Oswald returned to Charlie's office to find Grady packing her things and Charlie looking like he was in a much better mood than before.

"You continue to impress Grady. I am glad you stopped by. Are you sure you can't stay longer?"

"Afraid not. People to see and bills to pay. Oswald, there you are. Brilliant news, Charlie's given me a commission," she raised her brows and Oswald understood her significant look. A legitimate excuse to return to Charlie's home would make their task easier.

"That's very good news sir," Oswald smiled.

"It does pay to maintain old friendships. Especially with someone as talented as Grady," Charlie rose and walked them to the door. "Good to have met you Mr. Cobblepot. You will look out for Grady? As brilliant as she is, I know she can be reckless at times."

His irritation with Grady seemed to have completely passed, he was all smiles.

"I know it all too well," Oswald said. "Rest assured she is good hands."

Again Charlie passed a searching look over the pair of him. "I suppose that's good then. Grady, if you ever find yourself with free time... It would be nice to talk about something other than business."

"Aye, I'll keep it in mind. I think of you sometimes. Especially that cat." Grady smiled and Oswald felt pretty certain it was genuine.

"Ah yes," Charlie gave a short laugh. "The cat. I still keep one. He's around somewhere."

They looked at one another as though not sure what else to say, but still smiling. Oswald suddenly felt like his presence was an intrusion and found this very annoying.

"Grady I hate to rush a reunion with old friends, but your next appointment..."

"You're right of course," Grady said. "Charlie, I'll see you when the commission's finished."

They said their goodbyes and hurried for the door.

"That was very interesting," Oswald said once his driver retrieved them.

"I'm glad you got something out of it because the last thing I need right now is another commission...what's so interesting?" she asked.

"I found two weaknesses," Oswald announced. "The first is only a possibility. It's whatever he's hiding in the room upstairs. Do you have any idea what it could be? It's in a large room and requires the protection of several guards and a two way mirror."

Grady shrugged. "I haven't the faintest. How should I know?"

"Because the second weakness Grady, should be very obvious and I'm sure it went straight over your head."

Grady frowned. "I don't follow. You make it sound like you figured out what's in the room."

"No Grady. The second weakness is you." He watched her closely.

"Well that's ridiculous," she said, but her ears turned pink.

"It's obvious Grady. He may not trust you, but he wants to or he forgets to distrust you because he's busy admiring you."

"We were good friends once and he puts on a friendly face, that's all," Grady insisted.

"This would be very useful because you could easily trap him and dispose of him yourself," Oswald continued. "Except I believe you have a weakness too and I'm not convinced you'll go through with it."

"Bollocks," Grady shouted. "What on Earth led you to that conclusion?"

"The pink ears? The smile? Please Grady, I may not have known you as long, but I do know when you're acting out of the norm," Oswald grumbled.

Grady was about to make a snappy remark but paused midway. "Ooooh. I see."

"What?" he asked irritably.

"Look, I was fond of Charlie once. And it's odd to see him again and he can be charming if he wants to be. But he's nothing in the scheme of things. We need him gone to please the Burrow Boys, so I'll do what I must. That's it."

Oswald watched her critically. Grady believed right now that she could do the job, but he wasn't so sure she could follow though when the opportunity rose. She had softs spots, some sense of loyalty, some heart. Not much, but some.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"I'm thinking that in this instance, I may know you better than you know yourself," he told her.

Grady rolled her eyes. "Well done flattering yourself."

He scowled out the window beyond her.

"Stop fussing," Grady gave his knee a light smack. "You're still my favorite."

This kept him quiet for the rest of the drive as he was deep in thought.


	13. The Locked Room Upstairs

**Thank you for reviews FuchsiaGrasshopper and Persephoniii :) **

**I have some Grady doodles if you want to check it out. Direct link is in my profile, it won't let me post it here.  
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><p>Grady hadn't heard from Oswald in two days. There was nothing unusual about this in theory. Except for the Charlie situation. She knew he didn't trust her to take care of things and expected him to turn up or at least call. Maybe he didn't think she would make a mess of things after all, but after a day passed, she grew worried. Regardless of where he had disappeared to, there still remained the Charlie problem. "He has two weaknesses," Oswald had told her. "You and whatever he's hiding upstairs." She used the first weakness to install further security measures in the house, free from suspicion. It didn't take long to find out what Charlie had hidden upstairs. And then she had to act.<p>

She hid in her shop that night to avoid answering to rumors that were sure to spread through the Burrow. Come morning, she'd have to do something. There was no point if they couldn't lay claim to what had happened. Where was Oswald? Grady was behind on commissions and spent several hours working with Fionn snoring at her feet. She tried not to thinking about losing two of the few people she had ever called a friend.

At a quarter to midnight Fionn leapt for the door, barking up a fierce storm and Grady breathed a sigh of relief. Fionn's barks turned to happy whines and when Grady followed him through the curtain, she found Oswald in one of the worst states she had seen him. His clothes were ripped and disheveled, he looked greasy and ill, and worst of all he had an angry purple welt circling his eye. Still, he seemed pleased to have Fionn slobber on him. "Hello old friend," he said and scratched him on the ears.

"Come on, back beast," Grady shooed the dog off and Oswald's smiled faded.

"Uh Grady, I apologize. Unforeseen circumstance came up and I - well, I wanted to make sure you were alright but I also thought it would be best not to go home," he babbled.

"Steady on," Grady waved him toward the curtain. "Did you think I'd be angry? What the hell happened?"

"Ah well... it's a little embarrassing," he mumbled.

Grady inhaled sharply as she examined his eye in the full light. "Were you knocked out? This is serious." With the lightest of touches, her fingers skimmed the bruise, mottled and red in places. "Does it still hurt?"

"My head's been ringing since it happened."

Grady rooted in her freezer for ice. "Who did it then? I'll do them one worse." She produced a bag of frozen mixed vegetables. "This is all I've got but it is icy..."

"I'm fine. I think the time has passed for ice."

"Have you seen that mess on your face? I will hold you down if you don't use it," Grady brandished the frozen food.

She looked very serious so he took the bag without further comment. "Gently now," Grady corrected. "You don't want any pressure on it." She didn't hold him down but she did support the ice as he explained how he had been suckered punched by a cop and held at the GCPD over night.

"Don Maroni says he's forgiven me, but he's watching me closely now. I didn't want to go home because mother will worry needlessly," he gestured at the eye. "And I didn't want to risk leading them to her... not to say I want to lead them here but..."

"Say no more," Grady shifted the thawing ice bag. "I'm not afraid of them. I can handle Maroni if he catches you coming round here. Come up with some excuse."

"You don't mind if I stay then?" Grady had given him access to the security on the front door, they had worked through the night at times, but it still felt strange to ask. He needed rest. And a wash. Needed to make himself at home in other words.

"Not sure if you've noticed, but you've practically lived here the past two weeks or so."

"Well I - I need to clean myself up. I'm not sure how you can stand to sit so close," he pawed at his ruined shirt.

"I hang around Fionn who smells like a dumpster. But you are a bit ripe. You've left some clothes I think. That day you were trying Burrow disguises..."

"Much appreciated," he said as Grady removed the ice.

She sighed. "I don't think I need to tell you that was a stupid thing to do. You're lucky Maroni didn't fire you or worse. And then where would we be?"

"But he didn't fire me. So I didn't overestimate my worth to him." It irked him when Grady told him off and even more so when she was right. Grady understood and made no further comment except to raise her eyebrows. Oswald went to wash away the grime and humiliation.

When he returned she insisted he eat something, but he needed little convincing.

"I've got tell you something," she said. "The Charlie situation is taken care of."

He nearly choked on his food. "He's dead?"

"Relax," she shook her head. "I was far more useful than you've been. No...he's not dead, he's in prison."

"I would have preferred if you had waited for me to help you...or at least told me your plans," Oswald had worried about Grady's role in this from the start. Now it was done and over without him being any the wiser.

"Now listen, I had to do something quickly," she said, catching his glare. "I would have preferred if you had told me about raising taxes so I could tell you it was a dumb move, but you didn't. You ended up in prison and I put the Burrow's most wanted behind bars. We'll be heroes tomorrow, you'll see. So don't grouch. It's your own fault."

"I had to know my limits with Maroni. Now I know." It was the best excuse he could come up with.

Grady didn't look convinced, but again, she let it drop. "You were right. I couldn't kill Charlie."  
>She rolled her eyes at his smug "I told you so" expression. "Oh, don't gloat. It's not attractive," she grumbled. "No, I couldn't kill him. But I found out what was upstairs. And I couldn't let him carry on after that."<p>

"Go on," Oswald prompted. She certainly had his interest.

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><p>Grady never slept well. The clocks showed just after 3 when she woke with an idea. It was far from the first time she chose inspiration over sleep. She climbed out of bed and examined the collage of newspaper clippings and other facts that Oswald had helped to arrange. Several months ago, there had been a string of missing homeless on Gotham's west side. Children to be exact. The kidnappers were over the top and drew absurd attention to themselves and as a result, captured in due time. Missing persons in Gotham... it happened everyday. But when the numbers increased...<p>

She grabbed stacks of newspapers and began marking the maps. Soon a pattern appeared. Red dots clustered like a spatter of blood.

"Not Charlie," she thought, shaking her head. But Grady knew math. Grady knew statistics. Grady knew patterns and structures. She took to the streets. And how she hoped she was wrong.

First she listened to a busker. Amazing the messages they could relay in their songs to those who knew how to listen. This song was a warning to anyone who lived on the streets. It led her to a particular tent city beneath a bridge. Hidden in a jumble of ratty clothes, she watched and listened. She even asked a few questions. It wasn't long before she learned everything she needed to know. It wasn't clear how Charlie was making his money before, criminals in Gotham had a colorful variety of options. But it was becoming apparent to her now. The one thing Grady would never do. She prepared her commission for Charlie, sick at heart because she had always thought he was better than her.

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><p>"You have changed Grady," Charlie leaned across his desk. She had been charmed by his smile last time, now he reminded her of an alligator. "I thought you hadn't...but you have."<p>

"Things have happened," she shrugged. "A lot of things. You've changed more than I have."

She was ready to kill him then. Once she knew for certain what was in the room upstairs, there was no reason not to. It would only be fair. It wouldn't be too difficult. She could use poison. She could even give him another modified pistol. One that would tragically misfire.

"I have changed Grady," Charlie sighed and he slumped in his chair as though he couldn't stand the weight of his own bones. "You have to sometimes. You know how it is. You change or you die. I don't always like it. I do miss the boy you went to school with. He's in there, you know. He's in there and he hates me." He leaned his forehead on his fist. "But you know how it is," he smiled bitterly. His eyes glittered with the same pain she had seen after he'd been knocked in the ground, kicked in the ribs.

"I understand," she said quietly. A stream of curses rattled in her head. She couldn't kill him. Like Charlie, she had tried to break her own heart until it no longer worked, no longer felt things the way she should. But he must have done a better job of it. She knew she couldn't kill him. But she had to know what was upstairs.

"I am sorry about what's happened to you," Charlie said. "I'm sorry about your Dad. For your sake."

"I'm more sorry about you." She at least had the chance to say it. "I'm sorry Charlie."

He gave a shrug. "You can help me make it right at any time."

"There is no making it right," Grady gathered her tools. "Trust me... I'm going to get to work on your alarms. Basement, entryway, back door?"

"Yes, thank you. I'll be along to see you once I've finished some work." He smiled and it was almost like how he used to. Grady turned away.

She meandered to the second floor. Based on what Oswald had told her about the room upstairs, it was above the second floor hallway with the picture window. No one passing gave her any trouble. Except for one man who gave her sunglasses a funny look. "Nice shades," he commented.

"Hung over," she explained and he laughed. But he was right to look. They were not ordinary glasses. They were heat seeking. And as she looked up at the ceiling of the hallway she saw a room full of warm bodies. Red and yellow masses peppering the room upstairs. "Shit," Grady mumbled. She had never wanted to be wrong more badly. But now she knew what had to be done.

In the basement, she quickly installed what was the very opposite of security. The old basement was damp and moldy as anticipated. With some rewiring and a spark...there would be a lot of smoke. And plenty of time to try to evacuate.

She raced up to the yard and found the fuse box hidden behind a flowering bush. After flicking a few switches she ran for the nearest pay phone.

A deep breath forced out all traces of accent from her voice. Then she dialed GCPD.

"In about fifteen minutes there's going to be an electrical fire at 114 Prospect Street. The owner is one Charlie Moran," she told the officer on the other end. "In the chaos, the residents of this building will be under some pressure. They'll be trying to move their human trafficking ring as quickly as possible. Go to the alley attached to Crane St. and the old subway access tunnel on the end of Prospect. It's the only routes they can evacuate from."

"Who is this?" the officer demanded.

"Just a good samaritan," Grady said and hung up.

She climbed a fire escape two blocks down. She watched as the smoke billowed out, alarms chirping, vans raced to the building. Sirens wailed in the distance.

"Will you leave them to die Charlie?" she wondered.

The police had an even quicker response time than she expected. They beat the fire department by two minutes. Grady watched a line of slumping figures rescued from the building. Ill, homeless, drug addicts. Charlie in cuffs.

All in all, her plan had been flawless. But Grady took no joy in it. A day later, the smell of smoke was still in her nose.

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><p>"Took this trophy before I went into the basement." Grady dropped a gleaming antique pistol on the coffee table. "Proof for the Boys we're the ones that took him down. You can use it actually. They already think the world of me..." She finished in a brooding silence.<p>

Oswald watched her carefully. The more he came to understand Grady, the more interesting she became. Most people became considerably less interesting once he worked them out.

"So noble," he said to Grady.

She shrugged, still glowering at the pistol.

"You wouldn't take the life of your old friend. I knew that from the start," he said.

"Yes congratulations, you find me completely predicable," she said irritably.

"On the contrary," he said. "You've surprised me. I've known you to lie, steal, and murder. But you condemn someone who deals in human trafficking. I'm curious."

Grady almost looked alarmed. "You don't agree? You can see through a lie. You can get back stolen money and goods. And death well... death is easy compared to the life that was waiting for those people. Their humanity would be stolen. What's life without that? No... there's some things you don't do. That's one of them."

Oswald watched her thoughtfully. She shifted in her seat, wrung her hands.

"Tell me you wouldn't get involved in that business. Tell me you're not Charlie." She sounded almost desperate.

"I've never had to think about it," he answered honestly.

"There are so many ways to make money. There's no need." Her eyes became sharp and cold. "I'm telling you, I won't have it. You ever try it, I'll walk away."

"I won't," he said to pacify her. "I wouldn't." In truth, he wasn't sure what he would or wouldn't do. If he wasn't above murder, he wasn't sure he was above anything.

Grady rubbed her eyes and seemed satisfied.

"You did have me worried," he smiled. "When you said you would kill Charlie... If you would sacrifice your childhood friend, someone you've known so long. Imagine what you'd do to me."

Grady shook her head and squeezed his shoulder. "You're different. God knows I tried to have it any other way, but you are different."

He had once planned on destroying Grady as soon as he made use of her. He refused to be blinded by affection which was why it was a relief to know he had some power over her. Perhaps he could always use her. Protect her rather than eliminate her.

"You should sleep," she nodded toward her room. "You look like death to be honest."

"So should you." He ran a hand from her shoulder to elbow.

"Yeah, _sleep_," she emphasized with a light shove.

"That's all I was suggesting," he smiled.

Grady lowered her eyes. "Ha... you know that's not what would happen."

"I for one, am very tired," he argued.

Lightly, she touched the bruises on his face. "I know the temptation is there," she said. "But we're too much alike. We'll destroy each other in the end."

He took her hand from his face, examined the bones and knuckles. "And why would you say that?"

"Because we're selfish," she said with a light laugh, as though the answer was obvious.

"There's no denying that. But if you believe our destruction is so inevitable...what is there to lose?" He didn't believe a word she said. She got in these strange moods at times, nothing but fancies. He kissed her knuckles as he had seen Charlie do and she took her hand back.

"Sleep, before you change my mind. Honestly..." She jumped up from the couch and bustled over to her work bench.

He followed, pausing at the doorway. "You look exhausted. Come sleep Grady. I'm not tricking you. Not this time," he smirked.

"I'm behind on orders because I was distracted with this other business. I'm not making excuses. Not this time," she added.

Too tired to argue and knowing it was pointless, he gave up. He had never been in Grady's room. He collapsed into the bed without turning on any lights, but the shadows indicated it was full of books and papers like the rest of her home. It was a strange thing lying in her bed. It smelled like tea and a tangy metallic smell, maybe a hint of machine grease. It smelled like Grady. And she worked away on the other side of the wall. As strange as the situation was, he hadn't slept properly in two days and he didn't have to toss and turn for long. Hours later he was woken by rustling blankets. She was warm and he fought the urge to pull her toward him. She was like a wild animal he didn't want to spook. When he woke early in the morning, she was already in the kitchen making tea and frowning over newspapers.

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><p><strong>Sorry if you liked Charlie, I ended up getting rid of him as quick as I first planned. But I've got to start wrapping up the fic at some point so...<strong>


	14. Paper Route

**Thank you for reviews Persephoniii, FuchsiaGrasshopper, FrostyAutumn, and Ritos!**

**If you've been used to me making consistent updates, I'm sorry this was so slow! I had to make an unexpected trip and was away from home for about a week.  
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><p>Grady learned mechanics through the making of watches and clocks, but business she learned through delivering newspapers. She was proud to call it her first job and her grandfather got her a new bike for the occasion. Her route began in the Fall when the crisp mornings balanced the warmth that her pumping little legs generated. She continued even while she breathed heavily through a thick, ice crusted scarf but by this time, she had the help of one of her first innovations.<p>

A racquetball catcher, some bungees and gears, a lever on the side of the bike basket, and a little geometry that was quite advanced for a girl Grady's age, gave her the Paper Launcher. It took a lot of trial and error tests but in the end, she had a device that shot papers on stoops and porches more quickly than Grady ever would have been able to do on her own. After her first two routes, she had wondered if her bad aim would doom her to the ranks of a slow and mediocre paper delivery girl. Then she remembered that brains were more useful than a good throwing arm any day. Her grandfather urged her to enter the Paper Launcher in the school science fair, but Grady wasn't one for blue ribbons. Already, she had a taste for more practical rewards.

The invention didn't cut her route time in half, but it was close. Some simple calculations proved that it was possible to fit two routes into her run. The man that distributed the newspapers only allowed the children one route each, but there were ways around that.

"I'll do your route for half your pay." Grady selected Donovan because she considered him the laziest kid on the route and guessed he would need little convincing. "Think about it. You'll have money, but you won't have to work for it. Free money, you know the smart choice."

She tried not to roll her eyes as Donovan picked his nose and considered. In the end, he agreed.

The next step would be trickiest. She acquired a third route in this way and had to spend a few weeks running three routes in the time it should take to do one. Her legs ached, but she had doubled her wages. With some of the money she had saved, she hired a boy called Shrimpy. She chose him for his fast bike and he liked the idea of having a Paper Launcher stuck to it. He did another route that Grady purchased as well as her third one. Then she bought two more routes and hired another delivery boy. By the time summer came, Grady had restaffed almost the entire service and was earning ten times what she would have made if she had stuck to one route. The man who owned the service didn't pay close attention to the delivery kids, but he caught on eventually.

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><p>"And that's the first time I've told that story," Grady said to Oswald. "My grandfather was so disappointed. I had all this money and I was feeling like I owned the place, but when my Grandpa didn't like it... kind of went sour. So I spent the money in one go on something stupid. Don't even remember what."<p>

"Clever girl," Oswald chuckled. "I would have been proud."

"Aye well, we're of the same mind. Grandpa played by the rules though. Said I cheated the man who hired us. And I was confused how that could be because his papers were delivered all the same. My Da, he said something about a man who has the wool pulled over his eyes by a dumb little girl deserves what he gets. I agreed. Apart from the underhanded compliment."

She downed half a cup of tea as if it were a whiskey shot.

"I'm impressed." He couldn't help but grin at the thought of a young Grady monopolizing the paper route. "For your age, that bordered on genius."

"You'll make me blush." She stretched her feet out on the coffee table and knocked some papers over.

"A charming story, but I think you brought it up for a reason?" he asked.

"You're a Burrow Boy hero now since they think your responsible for locking up Charlie," she began.

"By your choice," he added.

"I don't envy you a bit of it, I get as much attention from them as I could ever want." She frowned and her eyes followed Fionn as he paced the room nervously and pushed through the curtain to the shop. Oswald glanced at him too. Fionn spent most of his time indoors snoring to rival the ticking clocks.

"Someone out smoking on the street," Grady shrugged. "Fionn doesn't like people hanging around at night. He's mostly useless but not completely."

"And maybe wiser than you give him credit for..." Oswald suggested. He'd become fond of the old dog who had made him nervous at first.

"He'll make noise if there's trouble," Grady said. "Anyway, my point being you can count on the Boys to trust you now. You know that's important. You say jump, they'll ask how high. Especially when you make them some more money."

"And you have an idea how to do that," he finished.

"It's going to be a lot like the paper route in theory only we're going to horn in on the garbage collection business."

"Garbage..." he raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"What? You have to be glamorous now?"

"I admit, it wouldn't have been my first choice. You propose some racketeering?"

"The Burrow's already had their fingers in it for awhile, but some Math shows they're falling way short of potential. Time to expand some territory. You can turn your nose up at the trash business, no pun intended, but everyone needs it. It's steady and reliable."

"I see your point," he allowed her. "But I would have preferred newspapers," he added with a smirk.

"That my friend, was child's play," she grinned. "One more thing before we really lay out this garbage stuff though. You need to pick a front man. The decoy leader of the Burrow Boys. The last thing we need right now is Maroni getting a hint of what you're up to down here. I want your say in this because you'll have to work closely with them. It's got to be someone loyal but smart."

They worked well into the night and forgot about Fionn who did not stop his restless pacing.

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><p>To the rest of the world, Connor Kerry would be the new face of the Burrow Boys. And he had a nice face, Grady considered it was too nice. Broad, open, and with a bit of a twinkle to his eye. But as Oswald pointed out, leaders ought to be charismatic. Connor was intelligent and dependable, but lacked the confidence to lead which meant he would follow directions. Could even have words put in his mouth.<p>

As he shared a pint with Grady at Pinhead Susan's, cheeks rosy against his dark curling hair, she could see how he earned the nickname Babyface Kerry and understand the attempts to squash it. Babyface did not have a threatening ring. The man had broad enough shoulders, but looked all together too jolly. But surround him with some of the ugly bunch at the bar downstairs and the effect was balanced out.

"So you'll need to liaison down at the landfill," Grady told him. "Soon as Oswald comes round, he'll tell you what to do."

"You don't call him Penguin?" asked Connor who in Grady's opinion, should have had a better understanding of annoying nicknames.

She shook her head. "He doesn't like me to."

Connor squinted at her. "You his girl?"

"I'm not anyone's anything," Grady snapped.

"Cripes, I was asking, not piss taking." He waited for Grady to elaborate, but she didn't. "Where's he been anyway?"

Oswald had been missing again for over two days.

"Doing something dangerous I'm sure," Grady picked at her food and shrugged, but based on the last week, she did not take this as a good sign at all.

"Kind of weird a little guy, but gutsy," Connor said. "Sort of like you."

"I'm flattered," she grunted.

"It's a compliment," he shrugged. "Oh yeah, this girl came in wanting to know if we needed an accountant. Florence something or other. What do you think?"

"I sure as hell don't have time to do it myself. Send her my way, I need to make sure she can count and such."

Connor laughed and dug in his pockets for a scrap of paper. "Alright, well here's her number. No insult to your company, but I was going to shoot some pool..." He jerked a thumb at the stairs.

"Go on then," Grady said. It was time she went home anyway.

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><p>There was a light on in her apartment behind her shop. Her stomach flopped in a strange and awful way that churned the pint she had drank. It was relief that Oswald must have returned, but also fear that someone else waited inside. The second option was ridiculous, but odd things had been happening. Fionn kept pacing around looking out windows and the night before there had been a loud crash in the alley.<p>

"Don't be a coward O'Grady," she told herself, but her hand went inside her jacket to the pistol at her hip.

Sure enough she found Oswald on the couch and released the breath she was holding. Like last time, his clothes were a jumble and there was no black eye, but he did have scabs and blood smears all over his face.

"Thank god it's you," she pulled her hand from her jacket.

"Who were you expecting," he smile faltered.

"Nobody," she shook her head. "Where have you been now and what's happened to your face?"

To her surprise he laughed.

"What is wrong with you?" She leaned in to examine the cuts and he beamed. "You look like the cat that ate the canary."

"Close enough," he smirked. "I was disappointed you weren't home, watching the cameras, up on the news."

"I've been a bit busy," she flopped onto the couch. "So if you'd care to enlighten me."

He stifled giggles like a child who was about to burst with excitement. "I told you we had to hold onto the evidence against Liza until things came to a boil. Until she could really hurt him. Fish made her move and well...let's say this wounded Don Falcone. He took it very personally. Without the evidence we collected, who knows what could have happened. And now Fish... Fish is no more."

Grady stared. "She's dead?"

"Well she's not dead yet," he shrugged. "But I'm sure it's just a matter of time."

It was Grady's turned to laugh. "You're joking. Tell me all of it."

When he was finished, she ran her hands through her hair, thinking quickly and wildly. "This is good," she babbled. "This bloody well changes things, in many ways, it evens up the game. By a long shot. But it's also become a lot more dangerous." She raised a finger for emphasis. "I'm not knocking anything you've accomplished. But we cannot count Fish out unless we see her corpse."

"Well certainly," Oswald agreed. "But we have many more options than she does at this point."

"That's true. But she's slippery." Grady rested her chin on her first. "I don't like this business with Maroni," she said slowly. "It's not your fault, but we have to change plans. He's going to watch you closely now."

Oswald cleared his throat. "Yes, I've thought of this but... I've allowed myself to enjoy a bit of victory first."

Grady smiled gently at the pride on his face. "Thinking less of battles won and more of the war at large is what keeps you alive... but enjoy it now. I'll think on what we should do, I'll need you down here sharpish tomorrow though."

"I hoped to clean up a bit," he said. "And then I do have to return to the club. It doesn't seem fitting you can't join me. This was as much your effort as mine. As I said, without that compact...things might have turned out very differently."

"Go on with ya," Grady shrugged. "It's not like I've never been to Fish's club. Nah...you want to reward me? Stop trying to get yourself killed. That's twice in two weeks now."

"I'll give you the first one, but the second was purely an accident," he argued.

"Out of all the people that mad electrician could have come across it had to be you," she sighed. "Honestly though, I'm begging you, try not to get hurt for a good month at least. I'm not sure I can do this without you and I know I don't want to."

They were quiet for an unsure moment. Teasing did not come as easily as it once I had.

"Well," Oswald said at last. "I'll try my best."

"Good," Grady said and thumped him on the arm.

She leaned on the bathroom door frame as he washed the blood from his face. "I ought to put a distress signal in your umbrella," she said. "So I can bail you out next time."

"I'd say we're even," he mumbled around a towel as he dried his face. "You jumped in the river and took a beating from Pat Hannigan."

"Well I-," she began, but couldn't think of an argument.

"Good night Grady," he said.

"You missed a spot. And well done by the way," she scrubbed at a spot on his cheek with her sleeve. And then she planted a kiss there, aware she was giving encouragement and prepared to accept the consequences.

Instead he gave her a self conscious smile. "I might not say no," he said. "To a distress signal."

"Go on," she said and he was out the door.

If they had made such tremendous progress, Grady wasn't sure why she was feeling more uneasy than when they had first begun.


	15. Interlude

**Thank you Petronille, furry419, and MDawn for reviews! **

**I've mentioned wrapping up this story, and I'm about 90% sure the end will come in 3 more chapters.  
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><p>She found him drunk, but alive. A side door provided more cover upon entering the building than the front would and she crept from behind the curtains. He appeared to be alone, the lights overhead twinkling over broken glass. When he saw her, he laughed like a madman.<p>

"Grady! I'm so glad you're here, already my night spot is very popular." He was sober enough to stand and walk, but the champagne mixed with the shock made him giddy and loose lipped.

She gripped him by the arms, even though he was steady on his feet. "Where is she?" Her eyes darted around the shadows, ears tuned for any hint that they weren't alone.

"Such a night it's been," Oswald beamed. "I brought my mother. My good friend Jim Gordon dropped by. Fish stopped by for old time's sake, and even Victor Zsaz."

"Victor Zsaz?" The sound of the name alone gave her a chill. Her grip tightened. It explained why Oswald wasn't dead, but she didn't like to be anywhere near the man if she could help it. He gave her the creeps. "We need to get out of here," Grady muttered.

"I need to lock up," Oswald declared.

"You'll do no such thing. You're piss drunk, you little gobshite. We need to leave now," Grady pulled him toward the doors.

The cold air outside sobered Oswald a little. "I'm glad you're here, but why? You said you'd stay home."

She tugged him again, hoping to speed him up. "I had a bad feeling... so I kept my eye on surveillance in the club. I heard her come in, then I borrowed Mad Sweeney's car and came uptown fast as I could. I nearly had a heart attack! What part of 'don't get yourself killed' is escaping you?"

"You have surveillance in my club?" Oswald asked.

"Oh stuff it you gobshite," Grady repeated. "Of course I do."

"It wasn't my fault Grady! Don't be angry. How could I have predicted that Fish would worm her way out of Falcone's clutches," he sulked.

She unlocked a large, brown boat of a car, checking over her shoulder all the while. "I know you're three sheets to the wind, but try to shut up on the journey home. This is the first I've driven in two years, so we might die on the way. And then this will all have been for nothing."

Oswald laughed far too enthusiastically at the joke and Grady glared daggers at him. "I mean it. And do up your seat belt."

* * *

><p>When he entered the apartment, Fionn rushed Oswald who greeted him with more fluffing of fur and pats on the head than he'd ever given him before. "My friend. To think I once thought you'd bite my hand off. But your smell is much worse than your bite."<p>

Fionn was so thrilled with the attention, he nearly knocked him over.

"I do like you drunk. You're funny," Grady admitted as she forced a glass of water on him.

"Oh good, I thought you were angry with me." He spilled half the glass with his tipsy flop onto the couch.

"I am angry. You scared me half to death. Do you have any idea how lucky you are?" she glared.

"Is it luck or fate?" he grinned.

"Shut it and drink your water. I suppose you think that was a reward for being reckless."

"I wasn't reckless," he argued. "I wish I knew how Fish managed to escape," his face grew dark.

"I told you she was slippery," Grady reminded him.

"Don't pretend you expected that," he shot back.

Grady rubbed her eyes. "I don't want to argue," she said. "But when I heard her voice over the mics... I didn't see how I was going to make it in time. Much less what I would do once I got there. It was bloody awful."

He looked at Grady's pale face, the dark circles under her eyes. He truly had scared her to death. It was then he made a connection to her concern. When he was missing, then believed dead, his mother was the only person who had cared where he went. The fact was not something he had dwelled on or even considered. Now that he knew he could add Grady to that list, the thought filled an empty space with a sense of pride, a warmth, but it was foreign too and maybe a bit of a burden. Was burden the right word? Grady could certainly take care of herself if he was gone. He had no doubt of that. She had the Burrow, she had her inventions, she had her brain. Which could only mean that Grady feared losing his company.

"What are you smiling about?" she grunted.

"I think you would have come up with something to help me in time," he said. "It's touching to see your concern."

"Well it's a lot less touching where I'm sitting," she glared.

He tried not to laugh, knowing it would annoy her even more. But the alcohol was softening his judgement. Perhaps it was time. Yes...  
>He reached in his pocket and pulled out the watch she had given him when they first met.<p>

"Held on to it, did you?" she nodded at the watch. "You never did tell me what you used it for."

"When we first began working together, I recorded a few of our conversations. A failsafe, you could call it. Conversations that would incriminate you against Fish, Maroni. If I had reasons to doubt your loyalty, I would use them. And I admit that at first, I thought you were too dangerous to live. You were a means to an end. And now of course, things are...different," he added quickly. "You can destroy it if you want."

Grady took the watch, twirled it in her fingers. Then she gave a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "Is it supposed to be my turn to be touched now?" she asked. "Of course you recorded me. I would have thought you were an idiot if you didn't. You had no reason to trust me."

She passed the watch back and Oswald took it, feeling deflated. He wasn't sure how he expected Grady to react, but this was a little mild.

"Well hang on to the thing, you never know when it might come in handy," she said. "You must be drunker than I thought, I don't think you ever would have told me otherwise."

"I - I yes, I would. Dammit Grady, I was trying to prove that I wouldn't hurt you intentionally. When I've helped you in the past, you thought it was only to benefit myself and that's not entirely true. I like helping you. I did a favor this evening for Jim Gordon because we're friends and for you I'd -,"

Grady stopped his lips with her own. This was very different from before. He had kissed her when he was half out of his mind, fresh from a kill both times. Now he was warm and drunk and light headed but still very aware of what was going on around him. He had no idea what to do with his hands let alone his mouth.

"There, is that what you were after?" Her light laugh tickled over his mouth and nose.

He cleared his throat and tried a few words that didn't make it out.

"Nah, I understand." Her voice was quiet. "And I do appreciate it. I'm going to sleep and so should you, you're still drunk."

He shed layers of jackets and a vest on the couch then followed her into the dark room, heart pumping in a strange beat. She was rustling around in the shadows and he sat on the bed, fingers making clumsy work of the buttons on his shirt.

"What are you doing?" She sat beside him as he shrugged out of the shirt.

He felt a flush that had nothing to do with the drunkenness. He was always conscious of his skinny stature, teased for it in the past. It was strange to expose his bones to her.

"I um, I - thought you meant..." He reached to get the shirt back.

Her hand went to his shoulder. It tingled as though his skin, unused to touch, was growing and shifting to allow this possibility.

"Well I'm not going to take advantage of you in your drunken state," she laughed.

He relaxed somewhat or at least tried. Grady could feel his muscles twitch beneath the skin. Like a flinch. Waiting to be hurt. Was he used to being hurt if he was touched? In a gentle rhythm, she swept her hand from shoulder to elbow. She hated the sympathy she felt. Caring too much meant making mistakes, meant working for someone other than herself. But when his blue eyes rested on her and she found trust there, she knew it was already too late. Her loneliness had been an itch for years and as they grew to understand each other, she began to scratch that itch and now he was under skin. She not only wanted him safe, she wanted him happy. It was a wish that felt too clean in the swamp of her usual motivations. She avoided his eyes, looked at the shadows dancing on the ceiling, tried to think of something else.

"I hate the thought of Fish out there," she said. "If she managed to escape, why didn't she just leave when she had the chance?"

"Leaving Gotham is difficult," Oswald said quietly. "Painful even. Maybe you don't understand because you weren't born here."

Grady turned back with a frown. "What do you mean? I was born here."

His eyebrows jumped. "Oh. I had assumed..."

"You thought I was from Ireland because of the accent? Nah, I just talk like the people I grew up around. Da, Grandpa, half the Burrow."

"I see. An easy mistake to make between your voice and the freckles..." His fingers brushed her cheek.

She was fixed with the damned eyes again. Her hand moved to his chest, so thin but she could feel a toughness there. "You're very loyal to a city that would like nothing more than to eat you alive."

"That's what makes it so beautiful." She saw his stomach bounce with his short laugh and moved her hand lower, pulled herself closer.

His own hands were braver now, sliding over her hip.

"Grady I...well. I've never..."

"Oh. It's alright." Her mind filled in the blanks, she brushed a hand through his hair. "I thought not. It'll be awkward the first time, but it's alright." She kissed his jaw and then his mouth because for lack of experience, his kissing wasn't so bad. He had passion in all other things he did, why not this.

"You're probably used to some Burrow Boy built like a boulder," he murmured around her mouth.

She could have been angry, but she knew what was behind his words. It was less jealousy and more nervousness. He was obviously very different from any Burrow boy.

"It's never been anyone important. I was barely out of school and just messing about. You haven't seen any of them around here, have you? Who have I got with me now? You. I don't want any of them. Don't worry about any of it. It'll be good and besides...practice makes perfect."

It was all the incentive he needed to find her lips again. He was adopting the frantic way he had about things, but the scrape of teeth on her neck gave her stomach a nice squirm.

Hands guided hips and if they were clumsy, at least they were being honest for once. It was satisfying and strange to lay curled in the dark with fewer secrets between them. And in the handful of hours before sunrise, they were as close to peaceful as either was capable of being.


End file.
